^^ rl a...J^/^3JJ Book n I ^/ CopyZ Copyright N" COPYRIGHT DEPOSIR LONGMANS' ENGLISH CLASSICS EDITED BY GEORGE RICE CARPENTER, A.B., Professor of Rhetoric and English Composition in Columbia College. This series is designed for use in secondary schools in accordance with the system of study recommended and outlined by the National Committee of Ten, and in direct preparation for the uniform entrance requirements in English, now adopted by the principal American colleges and universities. Each volume contains full Notes, Introductions, Bibliographies, and other explanatory and illustrative matter. Crown 8vo, cloth. Books Prescribed for the i8gy Examinations, FOR READING. Shakspere's As You Like It. With an introduction by Barrett Wendell, A.B., Assistant Professor of English in Harvard Univer- sity, and notes by William Lyon Phelps, Ph.D., Instructor in English Literature in Yale University. Defoe's History of the Plague in London. Edited, with intro- duction and notes, by Professor G. R. Carpenter, of Columbia College. With Portrait of Defoe. Irving's Tales of a Traveller. With an introduction by Brander Matthews, Professor of Literature in Columbia College, and ex- planatory notes by the general editor of the series. With Portrait of Irving. George Eliot's Silas Marner. Edited, with introduction and notes, by Robert Herrick, A.B.. Assistant Professor of Rhetoric in the University of Chicago. With Portrait of George Eliot. FOR STUDY. Shakspere's Merchant of Venice. Edited, with introduction and notes, by Francis B. Gummere, Ph.D., Professor of English in Haverford College. With Portrait of Shakspere. Burke's Speech on Conciliation with America. Edited, with introduction and notes, by Albert S. Cook, Ph.D., L.H.D., Professor of the English Language and Literature in Yale University. With Portrait of Burke. Scott's Marmion. Edited, with introduction and notes, by Robert MoRSS LovETT, A.B., Assistant Professor of English in the University of Chicago. With Portrait of Sir Walter Scott. Macaulay's Life of Samuel Johnson. Edited, with introduction and notes, by the Rev. Huber Gray Buehler, of the Hotchkiss School, Lakeville, Co n. With Portrait of Johnson. LONGMANS' ENGLISH CLASSICS— Continued, Books Prescribed for the i8g8 Examinations. FOJi READING. Milton's Paradise Lost. Books I. and II. Edited, with introduc- tion and notes, by Edward Everett Hale, Jr., Ph.D., Professor of Rhetoric and Logic in Union College. With Portrait of Milton. Pope's Homer's Iliad. Books I., VI., XXIL, and XXIV. Edited, with introduction and notes, by William H. Maxwell, A.M., Superintendent of Public Instruction, Brooklyn, N.Y., and Percival Chubb, of the Manual Training High School, Brooklyn. With Portrait of Pope. The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers, from "The Spectator." Edited, with introduction and notes, by D. O. S. Lowell. A.M., English Master in the Roxbury Latin School, Roxbury, Mass. With Portrait of Addison. Goldsmith's The Vicar of Wakefield. Edited, with introduction and notes, by Mary A. Jordan, A.M., Professor of Rhetoric and Old English in Smith College. With Portrait of Goldsmith. Coleridge's The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Edited, with introduction and notes, by Herbert Bates, A B. Instructor in English in the University of Nebraska. With Portrait of Coleridge. Southey's Life of Nelson. Edited, with introduction and notes, by Edwin L. Miller, A.M., of the Englewood High School, Illinois. With Portrait of Nelson. Carlyle's Essay on Burns. Edited, with introduction and notes, by Wilson Farrand, A.M., Associate Principal of the Newark Acad- emy, Newark, N. J. With Portrait of Burns. FOR STUDY. Shakspere's Macbeth. Edited, with introduction and notes, by John Matthews Manly, Ph.D., Professor of the English Language in Brown University. With Portrait of Shakspere. Burke's Speech on Conciliation with America. Edited, with introduction and notes, by Albert S, Cook, Ph.D., L.H.D., Professor of the English Language and Literature in Yale University. With Portrait of Burke. De Quincey's Flight of a Tartar Tribe. Edited, with introduc- tion and notes, by Charles Sears Baldwin, Ph.D., Instructor in Rhetoric in Yale University. With Portrait of De Quincey. Tennyson's The Princess. Edited, with introduction and notes, by George Edward Woodberry, A.B., Professor of Literature in Columbia College. With Portrait of Tennyson. *;(.* Sec list of the series at end of volume for books prescribed for i8gg and igoo. LONGMANS' ENGLISH CLASSICS EDITED BY GEORGE RICE CARPENTER, A. B. PBOFEBSOR OF BHETORIO AND ENGLISH COMPOSITION IN COLUMBIA COLLEGB SIR WALTER SCOTT MARMION LONGMAlSrS' ENGLISH CLASSICS With full Notes, Introductions, Bibliographies, and other Explanatory and Illustrative Matter. Crown 8vo. Cloth. Shakspere's Merchant of Venice. Edited by Francis B. Gummere,Ph.D., Professor of English in Haverford College. Shakspeee's As You Like It. With an Introduction by Barrett Wendell, A.B., Assistant Professor of English in Harvard University, and Notes by William Lyon Phelps, Ph.D., Instruc- tor in English Literature in Yale University, Shakspere's a Midsummer Night's Dream. Edited by George Pierce Baker, A.B., Assistant Professor of English in Harvard University. Shakspeee's Macbeth. Edited by John Matthews Manly, Ph.D., Pro- fessor of the English Language in Brown University, Milton's L'Allegro, II Penseroso, CoMus, and Ltcidas. Edited by William P. Trent, A.M., Professor of English in the University of the South, Milton's Paradise Lost. Books I. AND II. Edited bv Edward Everett Hale, Jr., Ph.D., Professor of Rhetoric and Logic in Union College. Pope's Homee's Iliad. Books I., VI., XXII., AND XXIV. Edited by William H. Maxwell, A.M., Ph.D., Superintencient of Public Instruction, Brooklyn, N. Y., and Percival Chubb, Instructor in English, Manual Training High School, Brooklyn. Defoe's History or the Plagtte in London. Edited bv Professor G. R. Carpenter, of Columbia College. The Sir Roger de Coverlet Papers, from "The Spectator." Edited bv D. O. S. Lowell, A.M., of the Roxbury Latin School, Roxbury, Mass. Goldsmith's The Vicar of Wakefield. Edited by Mary A. Jordan, A.M., Professor of Rhetoric and Old English in Smith College. Burke's Speech on Conciliation with America. Edited by Albert S. ('ook, Ph.D., L.H.D.. Professor of the Eng- lish Language and Literature in Y'ale University. Scott's Woodstock. Edited by Bliss Perry, A.M., Professor of Oratory and Esthetic Criticism in Princeton College. Scott's Marmion. Edited by Robert Morss Lovett, A.B., Assist^int Pro- fessor of English in the University of Chicago. Macaulat's Essay on Milton. Edited by James Greenleaf Croswell. A.B., Head-master of the Brearley School, New Y'ork. formerly Assistant Pro- fessor of Greek in Harvard University. Macaulat's Life of Samuel Johnson. Edited by the Rev. Huber Gray Buehler, of the Hotchkiss School, Lakeville, Conn. Irving's Tales or a Traveller. With an Introduction by Brander Matthews, Professor of Literature in Columbia College, and Explanatory Notes by the general editor of the series. Webster's First Bunker Hill Ora- tion, together with other Addresses relating to the Revolution. Edited by Fred Newton .scott, Ph.D., Junior Professor of Rhetoric in the University of Michigan. Coleridge's The Rime of the Ancient Maeiner. Edited by Herbert Bates, A.B., formerly Instructor in English in the University of Nebraska. Southey's Life OF Nelson. Edited by Edwin L. Miller, A.M., of the Engle- wood High School, Illinois. Carlyle's Essay on Burns. Edited by Wilson Farrand, A.M., Associate Principal of the Newark Academy, Newark, N. J. De Quincey's Flight of a Tartar Tribe (Revolt of the Tartars). Edited by Charles Sears Baldwin, Ph.D., Instructor in Rhetoric in Yale University. Tennyson's The Princess. Edited by George Edward Woodberry, A. B., Professor of Literature in Columbia College. George Eliot's Silas Marner. Edited by Robert Herrick. A.B., Assistant Professor of Rhetoric in the University of Chicago. Other Volumes are in Preparation. SIR WALTER SCOTT (After the portrait by Raeburn) Congmons' (Englisli Classics Sm WALTER SCOTT'S M A R M I O N EDITED WITH NOTES AND AN INTRODUCTION BY ROBERT MORSS LOVETT, A.B. ASSISTANT PBOFESSOB OF ENGLISH IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO /^^^'^^?^-^'Gh7,^ OCT10^B96 NEW YORK ^^^ \ LONGMANS, GREEN, AND 00. LONDON AND BOMBAY 1896 .Al Copy Copyright, 1896 BY LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. TROW DIRECTORY PRINTINQ AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY NEW YORK PREFACE Ik the Introduction to this edition of Scott's " Marmion" the editor has tried to present the author and the book as genuine human products resulting from certain well-defined spiritual conditions, and in this way to suggest to the stu- dent something of the powerful appeal which author and book made to the imagination of the men and women whose attention they first claimed. Every literary work, however great its interest and value, must depend in our own day, to some extent, upon the historical faculty of its readers. The most valid reason for the selection of " Marmion '' as a text-book for schools is that it offers admirable material for training this historical sense for literature. In preparing the text of the present edition the editor has relied for the most part on the text of 1830 (the last revision for which Scott was personally responsible) and on that of Lockhart's Standard Edition. In a few cases a word has been adopted from an earlier edition, but in the main the readings can be referred to one of these two. In the matter of spelling, punctuation, and capitals, it was the editor's original intention to allow the poem to stand as Scott himself left it in 1830. However, as there is no reason to suppose that Scott himself regarded this edition as final, and inasmuch as the spelling adopted by Lockhart is so generally accepted that a reversion to an earlier stand- ard might seem a deliberate assumption of oddity, the spelling of Lockhart's edition has usually been followed. vi PREFACE In the matter of punctuation, the editor has accepted sug- gestions made by Mr. Kolfe and others, and, further, has removed superfluous marks of punctuation where these made the text difficult to understand or to read. In the notes the aim has been to give such information as the student will not find accessible in an ordinary dic- tionary. All of Scott's notes have not been reproduced, but the necessary omissions have been confined almost en- tirely to quotations from other writers. R. M. L. University op Chicago, August, 1896. CONTENTS Introduction : taqb I. The Author ix II. "Marraion" ........ xviii III. The Metre xxvii Suggestions for Teachers and Students .... xxxi Chronological Table xxxv Marmion : A Tale of Flodden Field 1 Advertisement 4 Introduction to the Edition of 1830 5 Introduction to Canto 1 11 Canto 1 21 Introduction to Canto II 39 Canto II .47 Introduction to Canto III 67 Canto III 74 Introduction to Canto IV. ....... 93 Canto IV 100 Introduction to Canto V 121 Canto V 127 Introduction to Canto VI 158 Canto VI 165 L'Envoy .199 Map to Illustrate "Marmion" ...... 200 Notes 201 Suggested Examination Questions and Topics for Further Study 267 Index to Notes ......... 269 INTRODUCTION I. THE AUTHOR. Sir Walter Scott was born in Edinburgh, August 15, 1771. He was a strong, sturdy infant, and although af- fected in his second year by a teething fever which left him permanently lame, his rugged constitution was unimpaired, and he remained always active, devoted to out-door life. In consequence of his early illness he was sent to live with his grandfather at Sandy-Knowe, where much of his child- hood was spent. After his return to Edinburgh he began his studies, which continued regularly for only a compara- tively short time, since at the age of fifteen he was ap- prenticed to his father, an attorney or "writer to the Signet."' He began at this time his legal studies, which he afterwards continued at the University. His preparation for the law was much interrupted by excursions about the country in pursuit of picturesque or historical interest, so that his father once told him, contemptuously, that he was better fitted for a pedler than for a lawyer. Nevertheless, in 1792, he was called to the bar, and continued to practise with varying success for fourteen years. While yet a student he formed a romantic attachment for Margaret Belches, but though his attentions lasted for upwards of six years, she finally married Sir William Forbes. A year later Scott himself married the daughter of a French royalist of Lyons, Charlotte Margaret Char- pentier. His worldly prospects were not brilliant, for his reputation for irregularity stood in the way of rapid pro- gress at the bar. Shortly after his marriage, however, he was appointed Sheriff of Selkirkshire. This promotion made it possible for him to move his family from the little X INTRODUCTION cottage at Lass wade, a few miles from Edinburgh, where he had at lirst settled, to Ashestiel, where he remained from 1804 to 1812. Meantime he obtained the position of Clerk of the Court of Sessions at Edinburgh, and in 1812, when this position began to yield him a substantial income, be purchased the estate with which his name is always con- nected, Abbotsford. By this time, however, Scott had another and greater source of income. His early attempts at literature, a trans- lation of Biirger's ''Leonore,'" in 1796, and of Goethe's ''Goetz von Berlichingen,'' in 1799, and some ballads of his own, were not startlingly successful, but in 1802 and 1803 his publication of a collection of old ballads under the title ''The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border/' with some additional poems of his own in the ballad manner, revealed his skill in dealing with the literature of the past and his own power as a poet, and also proved a remunerative venture financially. Encouraged by this, Scott published, in 1805, a poem in six cantos, called " The Lay of the Last Min- strel," which made an immediate hit, and which continued so popular that nearly fifty thousand copies were sold during Scott's lifetime. This success was decisive. Scott was hence- forth not a lawyer but a man of letters. The next year he brought out a further collection of lyrical poems, and under- took several difficult pieces of editing, the most important of which, the works of Dryden, appeared in 1808. This year saw also the publication of Scott's second great work, " Marmion," for the copyright of which he received £1,000. In the next few years the series of Scott's literary successes was continued by ^^The Lady of the Lake" (1810), ^^ The Vision of Don Roderick" (1811), ^^Rokeby" (1813), and '' The Lord of the Isles " (1815). It was the astonishing success of these poems that enabled Scott to purchase Abbotsford and to spend great sums on its improvement. But he had also a third, though secret, source of income. In 1805 Scott entered into silent part- nership with an Edinburgh printer, James Ballantyne ; four years afterwards they added to the printing business INTR OB UGTION xi that of a j)nblishing house, James Banaiityne & Co. This hitter venture was badly conducted, and soon after Scott's removal to Abbotsford it became a source of very great anxiety to him. Moreover, about this time Scott's vogue as a poet began to diminish. The sameness of his material and style palled on his readers. Byron was becoming a dangerous rival. And while Scott's resources were thus diminished on two sides by the threatening condition of his publishing business and by the diminution of his popularity as a poet, his expenses in connection with his establishment at Abbotsford were constantly increased. This pressure forced Scott, at the age of forty-three, into the great work of his life. In 1805 Scott had j^lanned and begun a prose tale of the Rebellion of '45. In the summer of 1814 he finished it and published it anonymously under the name of its hero, '^ Waverley." The book revived Scott's earlier success. He followed it the next year (1815) by ^'Guy Mannering," and in 1816 by '' The Antiquary " and '' Old Mortality." Every year the list of stories by the unknown author of '' Waverley " grew, sometimes by two, sometimes by three, novels. At the same time Scott was constantly engaged in editing works of historical or antiquarian interest. The number and the size of his literary undertakings, apart from his novels, were enormous, involving such great single tasks as editing the works of Swift and writing the life of Xapoleon. With the proceeds of these literary productions, increased by his direct connection with the printing and publishing world through the firms of Ballantyne and Constable, Scott drew near to the accomplishment of his dream of founding a great family. He increased the estate of Abbotsford, and rebuilt the mansion. He was knighted in 1820. At the same period his hospitality was unbounded. To support these expenses he found it necessary to accept from his publishers advanced payments on work not yet performed. Thus his affairs were again becoming involved, when all his plans were broken, in 1826, by the failure of Constable, which dragged down the firm of James Ballantyne with liabilities of £117,000. Xii INTRODUCTION Scott met the crisis with characteristic courage, and a wisdom which he had not always shown. He diminished his establishment, sold his Edinburgh house, and pledged his Abbotsford property as security for his payment of the debt. Then he went to work with his pen to earn the sum owed. He published " Woodstock ^^ immediately, the ^' Life of Napoleon ^^ the next year, and " The Fair Maid of Perth ^' the year after. But he no longer worked with his old facility. Although these later novels do not show any marked falling off in style or in imaginative concep- tion, yet Scott himself was constantly tortured by the fear lest his magic wand should break in his hand. Other sorrows came to him. In 1826 Lady Scott died. In 1830 he suffered a slight paralytic shock. The next year, while attending an election at Jedburgh, in the height of the excitement over the Reform Bill, he was flouted and cried down by the crowd. The ^^ Burk Sir Walter'' of the Whig rabble seems to have been the sound that echoed most persistently in his dying ears. Dying he now was. In 1831 he completed his last two novels, " Count Robert of Paris'' and '^Castle Dangerous," which left his liabilities reduced by more than one-half. Indeed, the struggle was now practically over, for the value of the copyrights of earlier works was sufficient to cover the remainder of the debt. In this year he went abroad for rest, and visited Italy and Germany. But the disease which had threatened two years earlier closed in upon him rapidly. He was brought back to London almost too ill to speak. In September, 1832, he completed his journey to Abbotsford, only to die there. Scott's father was an Edinburgh attorney, a man of prim, methodical habits and painful integrity, from whom Scott undoubtedly inherited his conscientious industry as well as the unbending honesty with Avhich he weighed his obligations, and performed them. His grandfather was a man of different type, with something of the free way of handling life which belonged to his ancestors. The story INTRODUCTION xiii is told of him that he once went into partnership with a neighbor in raising sheep, the latter advancing £30 as capital. By the time that the neighbor had found a prom- ising flock Robert Scott had paid the entire sum for a horse, which, however, he soon sold for double the money. Lockhart relates that Scott would refer to this incident in the days of his business troubles. " Blood will out,^^ he would say ; " my planting and building was but his buying the hunter before he stocked his sheep-walk, over again." Scott's great-grandfather, also Walter Scott, was called Beardie, because he refused to cut his beard after the ex- pulsion of the Stuarts. He manifested his devotion to the cause of the exiles in more serious ways, which came near costing him his beard and his head likewise. Through him Sir Walter Scott was thus brought into direct and practical sympathy with one of the historical periods which he was to do so much to recreate. It is hardly an accident that his first novel dealt with the Stuart attempt of 1745, with which Scott, though born twenty-six years later, came into actual contact through his family. Still less is it an ac- cident that his first poem dealt with a story of the house to which his clan, the Scotts, owed allegiance, the house of Buccleuch. In the course of the poem Sir Walter makes occasional mention of the loyal services of his ancestor Walter Scott of Harden to the chief house of the Scotts (•' The Lay of the Last Minstrel," Canto IV., ix.), and his own dedication of the poem to the contemporary Duke of Buccleuch shows something of the same feudal spirit. Scott cared much for his family and his ancestry. His strong interest in his own relations with the past helped him to that vividness and directness in writing of former scenes and periods which make the chief glory of his work ; his attempts to reproduce that past in his own life led to his extreme misfortunes." Scott^'s grandmother on his father's side had much care of him as a child when he was at Sandy-Knowe. ^'My grandmother," he says in his autobiography, '^ in whose youth the old Border depredations were a matter of re- XIV INTRODUCTION cent tradition, used to tell me many a tale of Wat of Harden, wight Willie of Ailswood, Jamie Tellfer of the fair Dodhead, and other heroes/^ Scott^s mother, likewise, had a vivid memory. " She could draw," wrote Sir Walter, ^''without the least exaggeration or affectation, the most striking pictures of the past age. If I have been able to do anything in the way of painting the past times, it is very much from the studies with which she presented me. She connected a long period of time with the present generation, for she remembered, and had often spoken with, a person who perfectly recollected the battle of Dunbar and Oliver CromwelFs subsequent entry into Edinburgh.'^ Thus Scott drew much of his material for his literary work from his immediate family. Other sources were not wanting. A constant visitor at his aunt's was Dr. Duncan, the clergyman of the parish, who ^^ had seen Pope and could talk familiarly of many of the characters who had survived the Augustan age of Queen Anne.'' His tutor, a retired clergyman, transmitted to him ^' a great acquaint- ance with the old books describing the early history of the Church of Scotland, the wars and sufferings of the Cove- nanters, and so forth." His father's friend, Alexander Stewart, of Invernahyle, in the Highlands, related to him his experiences in the insurrections of 1715 and 1745, and described his broadsword duel with Kob Eoy. Scott's first visit to this Stewart took place when he was about fifteen years old. From this time on he was a most indefatigable traveller — on foot in the neighborhood of Edinburgh, and on horseback through the more distant and less explored portions of Scotland — living with the people, hearing their stories and songs. It was to these journeys through the Border region that Scott owed much of the material which he used in " The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," as well as that intimate knowledge of the country which served him so well in his tales in prose and verse. In these wanderings the chief interest for Scott was his- torical, the connection of places with events of the past. INTRODUCTION XV He says himself : '' The wandering over the field of Ban- nockbiirn was the source of more exquisite pleasure than gazing upon the celebrated landscape from the battlements of Stirling Castle." Nevertheless, the charm of romantic scenery was always a strong inducement with Scott to undertake expeditions involving any amount of effort. His feeling for natural beauty first awoke, he tells us himself, at Kelso, where he stayed much with his aunt. Miss Janet Scott. Of Kelso and its influence he has left us a record in his own words : " The neighborhood of Kelso, the most beautiful, if not the most romantic village in Scotland, is eminently calculated to awaken these ideas. It presents objects, not only grand in themselves, but venerable from their association. The meet- ing of two superb rivers, the Tweed and the Teviot, both re- nowned in song, the ruins of an ancient Abbey, the more dis- tant vestiges of Roxburgh Castle, the modern mansion of Fleurs, which is so situated as to combine the ideas of ancient baronial grandeur with those of modern taste are in them- selves objects of the first class ; yet are so mixed, united, and melted among a thousand other beauties of a less prominent description, that they harmonize into one general picture, and please rather by unison than by concord. I believe I have written unintelligibly on this subject, but it is fitter for the pencil than the pen. The romantic feelings which I have de- scribed as predominating in my mind, naturally rested upon, and associated themselves with, these grand features of the landscape around me ; and the historical incidents, or tra- ditional legends connected with many of them, gave to my ad- miration a sort of intense impression of reverence, which at times made my heart feel too big for its bosom. From this time the love of natural beauty, more especially when com- bined with ancient ruins, or remains of our fathers' piety or splendor, became Avith me an insatiable passion, which, if cir- cumstances had permitted, I would willingly have gratified by travelling over half the globe." These two elements in Scott^s life and work — his interest in the past and his love for nature — connect him closely with the great literary movement of his day, which we arc Xvi INTRODUCTION accustomed to call Eomanticism. In the early eighteenth century the most prominent literary influence was classi- cal ; in poetry and in prose, Latin and Latin-French models were followed ; regularity, grace, elegance, were the chief literary virtues. The material with which literature dealt was drawn largely from the contemporary life of man, and from his social environment. Nature and man as an element in nature were less regarded as literary material, and in the deference paid to Latin and French models the influence of earlier English writers was diminished. Long before Scott began to write, however, a change made itself felt. Poets began to find worthy imaginative material in the life of nature, and in the life of man as influenced by nature and swayed by natural impulses. Cloyed by the refine- ment of treating nature only when artificialized by man, and man himself only when toned down by society and civilization, the literary appetite of the time demanded nature in her wildest, most untamed aspects, and man in his most independent, solitary, protesting attitudes. Such material as this was to be found in the past. In 1765 Bishop Percy issued his collection of mediaBval ballads under the famous title, '' Reliques of Ancient English Poetry," and about this same time MacPherson brought out his pre- tended discovery of the poems of Ossian, an ancient bard of Scotland. They were followed by a whole school of writers, who ransacked the older literature for its most ro- mantic tales, or, when such could not be found, invented them, and threw over them the thin glamour of a sham antiquity. One of the earlier of these authors was Horace Walpole, who wrote " The Castle of Otranto ;" one of the later was Matthew Gregory Lewis, whose romance, " The Monk/'' made for him a brilliant reputation. With all this movement Scott was in hearty sympathy. His friend Irving told Lockhart how eagerly he and Scott read *^ The Castle of Otranto"' with other more genuine romances, and it is curious to remark that they chose for these readings the most savage and inaccessible nooks about Arthur's Seat, Salisbury Crags, or Blackford Hill. Later, INTRODUCTION xvii when Scott was just beginning his literary career, he met Lewis, and was glad to contribute to a collection which the latter was bringing out, called ^' Tales of Wonder," in regard to which Lewis stipulated that each story should contain either a ghost or a witch. Before this Scott had on his own account fed the appetite for the marvellous by his translations of Biirger's ^'Leonore" and ^^The Wild Huntsman." All this represented, it is true, one of the more superfi- cial elements of the romantic movement. That movement corresponded to a real change in men's minds from the classicism of the eighteenth century, an awakening to the value of action and passion in life, a growing percep- tion of the importance of man's natural environment as a means of spiritual growth, an increasing interest in man himself, apart from the accidents of his position or of arti- ficial distinctions. This change, as it made itself felt in English literature, was expressed most purely by Words- worth. But Wordsworth had not yet caught the people's ear. His message was too high, his consciousness of it too perfect, for him to become at once a popular poet. It was Scott, feeling the attractions of the new fields offered to the poet and exulting in the new freedom with the aban- don of a cross-country rider, who drew the cheers of the multitude. Loyalty to the past had at the time when Scott lived a meaning that it could not have had later. The love of the past was a superficial element of romanticism. There was a deeper side of the movement, by virtue of which men be- gan to see themselves and all mankind stripped of artificial trappings of place and rank, and reduced to elemental humanity, and to discover in men thus brought down to essentials a Avonderful equality. This was the idea which the French Revolution sought to make prevail in the world. It was radically opposed to the old feudal conception of man, around which clung so much that was striking in the past. Only a few of the most ardent romanticists in Eng- land, such as Wordsworth and Coleridge, dared to go with xviii INTRODUCTION' the Revolution even a little way, and these soon fell back, horrified at its excesses. Scott, from conviction and senti- ment, opposed it heartily, and wrought against it upon the reason and the imagination of his contemporaries. Indeed, his resolute championship of the ideals of the past against the assaults of a destroying present gave Toryism its most winning appeal, the force of which was felt unconsciously more and more as the nation threw its strength more com- pletely against the principles of the Revolution. Thus the work of Scott has a double aspect. The generations which first read his poems and novels read them as exemplifying, on the one hand, literary emancipation, freedom of hand- ling new material of wonderful value to the imagination, and, on the other hand, though less consciously, political reaction, devotion to ideals and faiths which the present was beginning to abandon. In any reading of Scott we have to bear in mind these facts, or else we shall have dif- ficulty in appreciating his position as the most popular author of his time. II. ^MARMION.'^ Scott began to write ''^Marmion" in November, 1806, nearly two years after the publication of '^ The Lay of the Last Minstrel.'^ Before the poem was fairly under way Constable, the publisher, offered one thousand guineas for it, and Scott accepted the proposal at once. He needed a sum of money immediately to assist his brother, Thomas Scott, and with the success of ^^ The Lay" behind him he fell back on his pen as on a tried resource. At this time Scott was living at Ashestiel, which he had hired in 1804. The house was a small one on the southern bank of the Tweed, a few miles from Selkirk. "It was approached," says Loekhart, "through an old- fashioned garden, with holly hedges, and broad, green, terrace Avalks. On one side, close under the windows, is a deep ravine, clothed with venerable trees, down which a mountain rivulet IXTRODUCTIOI^ xix is heard, more than seen, in its progress to tlie Tweed, The river itself is separated from the high bank on wliich the house stands only by a narrow meadow of the richest verd- ure. Opposite, and all around, are the green hills. The valley there is narrow, and the aspect in every direction is that of perfect pastoral repose. The heights immediately behind are those which divide the Tweed from the Yarrow, and the latter celebrated stream lies within an easy ride, in the course of which the traveller passes through a variety of the finest mountain scenery in the south of Scotland. " At Asliestiel Scott combined the life of the man of letters with the life of the man of action in the way that was afterwards characteristic of him. He had formerly been used to taking time for study or writing in the night, but owing to the opinion of his physician that this habit aggra- vated his headaches, he changed his plans entirely. At Ashestiel he rose at five in the morning, lighted his fire, shaved, and dressed. At six he was at his desk with his papers before him, all arranged most carefully, his books of reference piled about on the floor, and one of his favorite dogs lying just beyond them. By nine or ten Scott had '' broken the neck " of the day^s work. After breakfast he gave two hours more to his task and then he felt free for the day. By one o'clock at the latest he was on horseback or afoot, ready for action. His friend Mr. Skene, who was a frequent visitor at Ashestiel and a companion of Scott in his rambles, thus comments in a letter to Lockhart on the extent of their wanderings : " Indeed," says Mr. Skene, "there are few scenes at all cele- brated, either in the history, tradition, or romance of the Border counties, w^hich Ave did not explore together in the course of our rambles. We traversed the entire vales of the Yarrow and Ettrick, with all their sweet tributary glens. . . . " I need not tell you that St. Mary's Loch and the Loch of the Lowes were among the most favorite scenes of our excur- sions, as his fondness for them continued to his last days, and we have both visited them many times together in his company. I may say the same of theTeviot, and the Aill, Borth wick-water. 3tX tNTRODUCTIOJSt and the lonely towers of Buecleuch and Harden, Minto, Rox- burgh, Gilnockie, etc. "Whatever the banks of the Tweed, from its source to its termination, presented of interest, we frequently visited ; and I do verily believe there is not a single ford in the whole course of that river wliich we have not traversed together." *' Marmion " bears numerous marks of its birthplace and of the life its author led there. Scott speaks of the poem in his introduction as being ^' labored in passages with a good deal of care by one by whom much care was seldom bestowed/^ At the same time there is much testimony, both internal and external, to the freedom, the informality, the joy of composition with which the poem was written. Much of it was composed on horseback. Lockhart records Scott's saying in his old age, while riding from Ashestiel to Newark, '^ Oh, man, I had many a grand gallop among these braes when I was thinking of 'Marmion.^" Mr. Skene remembered that many of the more energetic de- scriptions, and particularly that of the battle of Flodden, were worked out while he was in quarters with a regiment of volunteer cavalry in the autumn of 1807. '^In the intervals of drilling, '^ he says, " Scott used to delight in walking his powerful black steed up and down by himself upon the Portobello sands, within the beating of the surge ; and now and then you would see him plunge in his spurs and go off as if at the charge with the spray dashing about him." '^ Marmion " reflects all of the stir and animation which accompanied its composition. It suffered somewhat, how- ever, from inevitable interruptions. During the compo- sition of the poem Scott took a journey to London to collect materials for his life of Dryden, and a large part of the first two cantos was sent from London to Ballantyne's press. He continued the poem with many interruptions after his return to Scotland. At last, in February, 1808, it was published, with six epistles introductory to the sev- eral cantos, epistles which Scott had once planned, accord- INTRODUCTION XXI ing to an advertisement of 1807, to publish separately as " Six Epistles from Ettrick Forest/' The poem was immediately successful. Severely han- dled by Jeffrey in the Edinburgh, and criticised unfavorably by Southey and many of Scott's other friends, it neverthe- less caught the public. In less than a month the first edition of 2,000 copies was sold at a guinea and a half. A second edition of 3,000 was sold in the same year. The next year two editions of 3,000 each were sold. In 1810, 5,000 more copies were sold. In 1811 two editions, aggre- gating 9,000 copies, were issued, which supplied the public until 1815. Editions continued to follow, until when Lockhart wrote in 1836 he stated the sales at 50,000 copies. Lockhart has preserved these figures carefully. " I antici- pate no day," he writes, " when the student of English civilization will pass without curiosity the contemporary reception of the ' Tale of Flodden Field.' " The immediate popularity of the poem is not a fact to be lightly passed over in its study. The poem must be read with constant reference to its application to the national feeling to which it was submitted. Fifteen years before the appearance of " Marmion " the irritation be- tween England and France consequent upon the excesses of the French Kevolution and the execution of Louis XVI. had culminated in war. Since then the English had seen the activity of their greatest minister, William Pitt, ex- pended in bringing about successive coalitions of European powers against France, each one of which was thrown down by the energy of the republic or by the skill of the empire under Napoleon. Their land forces had been de- feated in Europe, but wonderfully successful in India. The fleet had won the great battles of June 1, 1794, of Camperdown, of the Nile, of Copenhagen. The nation had passed as one man through the fever of Napoleon's threatened invasion and the relief of Nelson's victory at Trafalgar. Nelson had been shot on tlie deck of his flag- ship ; Pitt had died almost at his desk — both sacrificed to the same end, the overthrow of Napoleon. In the very Xxii INTRODUCTION year in which " Marmion " appeared, in 1808, England began that decisive interference with the plans of Napoleon from which she was not to cease until after Waterloo. To a nation engrossed in a national struggle, a poem dealing so fluently and confidently with action and warfare came with peculiar acceptation. Lockhart relates the story of Sir Adam Fergusson, a year or two later, reading from '' The Lady of the Lake " to his men as they lay prostrate within the lines of Torres Vedras under fire from the French artillery. He chose the description of the battle in Canto VI., ** and the listening soldiers only interrupted him by a joyous huzza when the French shot struck the bank close above them.^^ Perhaps " Marmion " was never subjected to this supreme test, but if it had been, it would have endured it even more successfully. ^' The battle of Flodden in ' Marmion,^ ^' says Mr. Hutton, '* constitutes perhaps the most perfect description of war by one who was almost botli poet and warrior, which the English language contains." The poem revealed the intense patriotism of the author. Says Lockhart : ^' Scott had sternly and indignantly re- buked and denounced the then too prevalent spirit of anti- national despondence ; he had put the trumpet to his lips and done his part, at least, to sustain the hope and resolu- tion of his countrymen. He must ever be considered as the ' mighty minstrel of the Anglican war ; ' and it was ^ Mar- mion' that first announced him in that character. ''' But " Marmion " did not owe all, or even the greater part of its popularity to the circumstance of England^s be- ing at war with France. We have already seen that Scott was an expression of the dominant literary mood of his day — romanticism. One element of the movement that caught the popular fancy was its sympathy with the past, in which Scott was more than fitted to share. He had for years been engaged in antiquarian researches, inspired by his interest in the past and his love for the marvellous in any form. He liad found an unexpected market for his ac- cumulated wares of story and legend. In " The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border" he had put forth some of this INTBODUCTION Xxiii material as a mere compilation. Its value was then made apparent. In ''The Lay of the Last Minstrel'" he had dealt freely with a mass of legends about real persons. The success was quadrupled. In " Marmion " he advanced still further and invented a whole story in the manner of the old minstrelsy, mooring it, as it were, to a few histor- ical piers. Here at last he found the final measure of his success. The poem '' Marmion " rests against a background of imaginative material, to which the author makes liberal reference in the text of the poem, and explains still more generously in the notes. Such stories as those of Whitby and Saint Cuthbert (II., xiii., xiv.), " The Host's Tale,'' in Canto III., the story of James's supernatural warning (V., xxvi.), and that of the ''Spirit's blasted tree" (VI., In- troduction, 1. 159) show how eager Scott was to connect his tale with the mass of legend Avith which he was famil- iar, and of which he had learned the popular value. Such an episode as the immuring of the nun Constance, in Can- to II. , though apart from the main action of the poem, was a very possible circumstance, possessing the interest which attaches to a real occurrence, and also the attraction of the mysterious and the terrible. It bore, therefore, directly on the popular inclination for such things, and probably could not have been read without emotion by Scott's contempo- raries, whose minds were attuned to horror. Of the characters in " Marmion," James IV. and Douglas are historical ; Lindsay, in his office of Lion King-at- arms, is transplanted from the succeeding generation. Lady Heron has a historical parallel in Lady Ford, whom James met at Ford Castle, not at Edinburgh. The rest of the characters, including Marmion, are all imaginary. In dealing with his historical persons, Scott has shown his usual skill in strengthening by imaginary incidents the outlines of character which history preserves. For in- stance, in Canto V., the account of James IV., with his rich dress, his noble bearing, his shifting mood, his devoted- ness, his gallantry, his fantastic chivalry, his gusts of an- XXIV INTRODUCTION ger and repentance, is wonderfully truthful and suggestive. As penance for his part in the insurrection which cost his father both life and crown, James IV. was accustomed to spend June, the month of his father's death, in retirement and religious exercises, and to wear at all times an iron belt. And yet with all this seriousness it is quite possible that James began the war in which he fell, because the French queen made him her champion ; and it is certain that his dalliance with Lady Ford cost him the military advantage which he had gained at the outset. Douglas, too, Scott has portrayed firmly and sympathetically. The sixth Lord Angus was one of the most turbulent nobles under James III. Under James IV. he headed the party that was for peace with England, and carried his opposi- tion to the king's rash expedition to the point of personal entreaty. He sent his sons to follow James, and turned back himself to die of regret in a monastery. His rugged personality may fittingly be compared with the Douglas in " The Lady of the Lake." Of the female characters Constance has the advantage of playing the chief role in the most dramatic scene. Her figure and attitude are admirably defined ; her lines are full of intensity. Clare is passive, a lay figure for the most part, and fortunately so, for when she emerges into the ac- tion (as in VI., x.) it is only to utter the most conventional sentiments in stereotyped phrases. The Abbess, again, is a shadow. How immensely less successful Scott's method was than Chaucer's can be seen by a comparison of the Abbess of Whitby with the Prioress in the " Prologue " to the '^ Cauterbury Tales." With the subordinate men Scott does better. There is a very successful attempt to discrim- inate Marmion's squires. Fitz-Eustace is the gentle youth, who sings ^' Where shall the lover rest ? " Blount is rougher, as his name tells us — " a sworn horse-courser," " unnurtured Blount," his companion calls him. The Palmer gains an interest from the obscurity which sur- rounds him, and when to the attraction of a mysterious bearing is added, in Canto VI., the force of his tragic situ- INTRODUCTION XXV ation, he becomes a figure of the first importance, an impor- tance which lie owes to his circumstances, not to the strength of his character. It is true he is brave and he is merciful, but these attributes count for less than the facts that he has been wronged and that he is victorious. Marmion owes much of the fascination which attaches to his character to the fate which dogs him with equal step through the poem. From Norham, where the Palmer is added to his train ; to Gilford Moor, where he falls before his unknown foe ; to Edinburgh, Avhere his mission fails ; to Tantallon, where he learns of the resurrection of his old enemy, De Wilton ; to Flodden, where he dies after hear- ing of the fate of Constance ; even to Lichfield, where the base-born peasant occupies the Gothic tomb which bears Lord Marmion's image, his thwarting destiny follows him. For the rest, Marmion is a clear, almost a vivid con- ception of the mingled virtues and vices of decadent chiv- alry, faulty only in the nndignified forgery with which Scott, in the haste of his composition, weakened the plot, and which gave Byron a weapon of attack in '^ English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.''' (See foot-note on p. 10.) On the whole, Scott's characters in '^ Marmion " have not the high success of some of his prose portraits. Scott excelled in painting figures which he knew intimately from experience. This experience sometimes came from a won- derfully vivid perception of the historic past, sometimes from a scarcely less vivid acquaintance with the men of his own age, usually men of striking peculiarity or mannerism — men not unfit for heroes. Baron Bradwardine and Dandie Dinmont are efforts of genius. Lady Clare, Wilton, even Marmion, are external portraits, true in drawing but with- out overmuch of the look of life. The scene of 'Olarmion" is the Border country, with which Scott was familiar from his youth. Marmion and his train appear first at Norham, just south of the Tweed. They ride thence northwest to Edinburgh, then almost east to Tantallon, and then south to Flodden Field. The journey gives an admirable opportunity to introduce char- XXvi INTRODUCTION acteristic bits of scenery and of the life of the early six- teenth century. The most elaborate scene is the reception of Marniion at Norham. For the setting of the poem Scott had a thorough equipment of mediaeval properties, which, if not always used accurately, nevertheless are an effective accompaniment to the martial tale. He had further a minute knowledge of the country, and, for cer- tain aspects of nature, a feeling of remarkable keenness. It has been cited, indeed, as a defect in Scott's narrative that the descriptions impede the movement of the story. However true this may be of some of the perversities of Scott's prose, it is hardly true of his poetry, particularly of " Marmion." In this poem the descriptions are as full of spirit and action as the narrative itself ; they often play into the narrative and are a part of it. It may be ques- tioned, indeed, whether for most readers the poem is not essentially descriptive, having its sustaining interest in its pictures, while the plot is merely a transient and occasional cause for mild wonder. A much-debated literary question has been that concern- ing the six introductory epistles. Does the poem lose sub- stantially in unity by their interruptions ? Southey ex- pressed himself to Scott vigorously on this matter. " The introductory epistles I did not wish away because as poems they gave me great pleasure, but I wished them at the end of the volume or at the beginning, anywhere except where they were. My taste is peculiar in disliking all interrup- tions in narrative poetry. . . . The general opinion, however, is with me in this instance.^' Lockhart defends the introductions on personal grounds as preserving for pos- terity a glimpse of Scott's intimate circle of friends. Mr. Hutton goes farther and maintains their artistic value. "To my mind," he says, "the ease and frankness of these confessions of the author's recollections give a picture of his life and character while writing ' Marmion,' which adds greatly to its attraction as a poem. You have a picture at once not only of the scenery, but of the mind in which that scenery is mirrored, and are brought back frankly, at fit intervals, INTRODUCTION XXvU from the one to the other, in the mode best adapted to help you to appreciate the relation of the poet to the poem. . AVhat can be more truly a part of 'Marmion' as a poem, though not as a story, than that introduction to the first canto in which Scott expresses his passionate sympathy with the high national feeling of the moment, in his tribute to Pitt and Fox, and then reproaches himself for attempting so great a subject and returns to what he calls his ' rude legend, ' the very essence of which was, however, a passionate appeal to the spirit of national independence ? What can be more germane to the poem than the delineation of the strength the poet had derived from musing in the bare and rugged solitudes of St. Mary's Lake, in the introduction to the second canto ? Or than the striking autobiographical study of his own infancy which I have before extracted from the introduction to the third ? It seems to me that ' Marmion ' without these introduc- tions would be like the hills which border Yarrow, without the stream and the lake in which they are reflected." III. THE METRE. Scott made his choice of a suitable poetic form before writing " The Lay of the Last Minstrel/' and to this choice, with some modifications, he adhered in all his longer poems. His first impulse seems to have been to choose the metre of the popular ballads. This metre regularly consisted of a line of four feet, of two syllables each, with the accent on the second syllable, followed by a line of three similar feet. Thus— ' ' O wha' will shoe my f u' fair foot ? And wha' will glove my hand ? And wha' will lace my middle jimp. With the new made London band ? " It was usually written in stanzas of four lines each. To this metre Scott found objections. He says in the preface to " The Lay of the Last Minstrel : " " The ballad measure itself, which was once listened to as to an enchanting melody, had become hackneyed and sick- ening from its being the accompaniment of every grinding xxviii INTRODUCTION hand-organ ; and besides, a long work in quatrains, Avhether those of the common ballad, or such as are termed elegiac, have an elfect upon the sense like that of the bed of Pro- crustes upon the human body ; for as it must be both awk- ward and difficult to carry on a long sentence from one stanza to another, it follows that the meaning of each period must be comprehended within four lines, and equally so that it must be extended so as to fill that space. . . . ' ' In the dilemma occasioned by this objection, the idea oc- curred to the author of using the measured short line which forms the structure of so much minstrel poetry that it may be properly termed the Romantic stanza, by way of distinction, and which appears so natural to our language that the very best of our poets have not been able to protract it into the verse properly called Heroic, without the use of epithets which are, to say the least, unnecessary. But, on the other hand, the extreme facility of the short couplet, which seems congenial to our language, and was, doubtless for that reason, so popular with our old minstrels, is, for the same reason, apt to prove a snare to the composer who uses it, by encouraging him in a habit of slovenly composition. The necessity of occasional pauses often forces the young poet to pay more attention to sense, as the boy's kite rises highest when the train is loaded by a due counterpoise. The author was therefore intimidated by what Byron calls the ' fatal facility ' of the octo-sy liable verse, which was otherwise better adapted to liis purpose of imitating the more ancient poetry." Accordingly Scott chose to write for the most part in lines of four accents each, arranged in stanzas of varying length and form. The regular ballad metre used largely iambic feet, that is, feet of two syllables with the accent on the second syllable. The monotony which resulted from this Scott varied in ''The Lay/' by substituting anapa3stic feet, i.e., feet consisting of three syllables with the accent on the last syllable, as in the last line of the ballad stanza quoted above. Such a foot, pronounced in the time usually given to an iambus, makes the line more lively and tripping. He also varied the movement by em- ploying at irregular intervals lines of three feet instead of four. INTRODUCTION xxix In '' Marmion " and " The Lady of the Lake" Scott uses the same form. In the introductions to the cantos of the former he kept closely to the regular iambic line of four feet, the lines rhyming in couplets. In the body of the poem itself he allows himself much the same freedom, as in ''The Lay."' In the first five stanzas of ''Marmion" the line of three feet is used nineteen times to vary the move- ment and give the stanzas some trace of structure. Again, Scott departs from the iambic foot, substituting now and then a trochee, especially at the begiuning of the line, as in (II., iv.) : "There with | Saint Cuth | berths Ab | bot old | ." The rhyme scheme also Scott varied constantly, some- times rhyming lines iii couplets, sometimes alternately, sometimes three together, sometimes four together. Again, the introduction of lyrical passages, such as " Young Loch- invar" and " Where shall the lover rest," gives the desired relief from the monotony of the eight-syllable line. In the first, the movement is anapaestic — ' ' O young I Lochinvar | has come out | of the West | ; " in the second, dactyllic — "Where shall the | lover rest Whom the Fates | sever." These lyrics are thoroughly successful. In the first the anapaests give a dash and a vigor to the lines that admit no hesitation or pause ; in the second the dactyls give dignity and solemnity. On the whole, Scott's choice of his metre was justified. It is a form lending itself to narration and descrijition, and agreeable to the structure of the English language. The chief fault, that it is too easy, too "fatally easy," to write, in time diminished greatly Scott's success as a poet, but without the facility of metre which lent itself to his head- long speed of composition it is not certain that Scott could XXX INTRODUCTION have written sustained poems at all. His power lay not in richness of imagery, in musical tones, in compact subtlety of phrase ; but rather in swiftness, hurrying energy, and decision of movement. For these his vehicle was better adapted than any other form of English verse. SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHERS AND STUDENTS First : Although " Marmion" is often used as a book for study, yet few books are read by the average pupil with more pleasure. It may safely be said that the pupil who w^aits upon the slow succession of class exercises to finish the book is the exception. Therefore it is better to have the poem read at first as a whole, outside the class. The pupil will need little help in appreciating the quarrel be- tween Marmion and Douglas, or the Battle of Flodden. His first impression is more than likely to leave him enthu- siastic, ready to believe that the poem has that in it which makes it worth some consideration in detail. In taking up the poem in the class, this point of view — that of the unprejudiced seeker for pleasure — should not be disregarded. It may be made to lend itself to closer ob- servation of details than is to be expected from pupils read- ing at home. The effectiveness of Scott^s special methods may be pointed out ; a few well - directed questions may be asked at times, to keep the progress of the plot clearly in sight ; now and then a comment on the verse form will seem to make the enjoyment of the student a little more conscious and tangible, and lead him to look for its recurrence. Of course the pupil will not find the same pleasure in all parts of the poem. The question arises, why not ? Is the movement of the story impeded ? If so, is there any reason for the delay ? Does the description fail to make any appeal, visual or other, to the pupil^s imag- ination ? Is it because the details are too numerous or confused, or because they have no sensuous force in them- selves ? Does the verse itself fail to ring, and merely rat- XXXii SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHERS tie in rhyme ? Let the pupil compare the passage with others, and try to distinguish the exact cause of the differ- ence. Naturally the pupil will have some opinion of the poem as a whole, even if it be little more than an impres- sion of pleasure. He should be encouraged to sharpen this impression by comparing the poem with others. Is it as interesting a story as ^' The Lady of the Lake ? " How does Scott's treatment of nature differ from Wordsworth^s in ^' Tintern Abbey ? " Is the verse of *' Marmion '' as power- ful an instrument as Tennyson^s ? Of course other poets and poems will serve as well as these in this attempt to get at a few literary standards. Second : However vivid the pupil's enjoyment of the poem may be, it will be reinforced by some reference to the author who wrote it, and to the people for whom it was written. Accordingly, after the poem has been read rapidly, it will be well to take up more or less thoroughly the mat- ter contained in the Introduction. It is the aim of the In- troduction to put before the reader very informally some account of Scott's personality, and to show how it was re- lated to the life of Great Britain in the early part of the century. The spiritual movement of romanticism had both political and literary manifestations ; with both of these Scott was connected, and both found expression in his work. How close this connection was appears from a glance at Scott's early life and environment ; how clear the expression, from reading the poems with the conditions of the time in mind. The first thing, then, to do, in reading Scott's poetry understandingly, is to get into the position, if we can, of the men to whom it was addressed, and to try to read it as they read it. To do this the reader must know something of the romantic movement of the latter part of the eighteenth century and of the political reaction from it in the early years of the nineteenth century. In other words, the best preparation for the reading of Scott's poetry is some acquaintance with the literary and political history of the time. This may be obtained from such works as Green's ''History of the English People," and Mr. Saints- SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHERS xxxiii bury's '^ History of English Literature in the Nineteenth Century." Even Mr. Stopford Brooke's " Primer of English Literature " will give a valuable introduction to the poem. This reading should be supplemented by some of Words- worth's earlier poems, by a few of Byron's, and, if possible, by some of the ballads in Percy's " Reliques " and some- thing of '' Ossian." The two latter will give some idea of the literary taste of the public to which Scott appealed. Third : The pupil must see that by spending some time on the details of the poem he will quicken his appreciation of them, and extend his range of appreciation of others. First of all, the words of the poem must be understood thoroughly. The difficulties are, to be sure, few, but these must be mastered before the reader can work in the brightest possible light. Then the background of the poem, historical and legendary, must be known with some minuteness. What world is it that Scott is striving to make us know ? What was the civilization represented by pursuivants who call for largess, an ordeal by battle, a chapter of ecclesiastics who immure a nun alive, a palmer from the Holy Land, an innkeeper who sits ^'^ yarning" with his guests, a knight who escapes from a castle in spite of drawbridge and portcullis, a battle fought with bows and spears ? Was this civilization well established in its de- tails, or was it in transition, giving way to great changes ? Is Scott accurate in his description of the age ? Does he give it life and reality ? Compare ^^Marmion" with ^' The Lay of the Last Minstrel." Again, the political history of the epoch must be glanced at ; the complications of England with continental powers ; the connection of Scot- land with both parties in the European struggle, and the forces which induced James IV. to make the expedition to Flodden ; the reasons for his failure. An outline of this maybe found in Green's ^*^ History of the English People," and a fuller treatment in Burton's " History of Scotland." Finally, some knowledge of the country in which the scene is laid is necessary, enough at any rate to give a concep- tion of the difficulty and danger of Marmion's visit. Of XXxiv SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHERS course, no one will need to be reminded that the poem is not to be studied as geography or as history, nor yet as archasology or grammar. Scientific knowledge is to be used only so far as it contributes to an understanding and an appreciation of the poem. It is thus evident that there are three sets of interests in '^^Marmion" — the interest which it has for the intelligent reader of to-day, the interest of the period for which it was written, and the interest of the time which it portrays. The first is a matter of enjoyment and criticism ; the second of literary history ; the third of history. They are given above in Avhat seems to me the order of their relative importance. Inasmuch as the poem is one of the books prescribed in the college entrance list for shuly, the teacher will naturally feel that the last two are of most immediate importance, and that the details which occur under the third head are most dangerous as boy-traps on the examination paper. Nevertheless, it is well to bear in mind that if information about the time of Henry VIII., or about literary conditions in England during the Napo- leonic wars had been desired, better means of insisting on it would have been devised. This information, so far as the study of ''Marmion^^ is concerned, can be of value only so far as it enables a pupil to read with more under- standing, with more sympathy, with more appreciation, and hence with more enjoyment. CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE xxxv o. S-c V II: 1^ iX^h-;; ^ j23Si^r< c3 o 1i« ><2 OiCr., ' o o o la 72-^ 013 . 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Or thought more grace to gain 460 If, iu 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 Chapter's doom On those the wall was to enclose. Alive, within the tomb ; But stopped, because that woeful maid. Gathering her powers, to speak essayM. 470 Twice she essayM, and twice in vain ; Her accents might no utterance gain ; Nought but imperfect murmurs slip From her convulsed and quivering lip ; ^Twixt each attempt all was so still. You seemM 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 scarce could hear, 480 So massive were the walls. XXVI. At length, an effort sent apart The blood that curdled to her heart, 62 MARMION [Canto 11. And light came to her eye. And colour dawn'd upon her cheek, A hectic and a fluttered streak. Like that left on the Cheviot peak. By Autumn^s stormy sky ; And when her silence broke at length. Still as she spoke she gathered strength, 490 And arm'd herself to bear. It was a fearful sight to see Such high resolve and constancy. In form so soft and fair. XXVII. " I speak not to implore your grace ; Well know I, for one minute^s space Successless might I sue : Nor do I speak your prayers to gain ; For if a death of lingering pain To cleanse my sins be penance vain, 500 Vain are your masses too. — I listened to a traitor's tale, I left the convent and the veil ; For three long years I bow'd my pride, A horse-boy in his train to ride ; And well 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, 510 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 true betray'd for gold. That loved, or was avenged, like me ! Canto II.j TUE CONVENT 63 XXVIII. " The King approved his favourite's aim ; In vain a rival barr'd his cUiim, Whose faith with Clare's was plight, 520 For he attaints that rival's fame With treason's charge — and on they came. In mortal lists to fight. Tlieir oaths are said. Their prayers are pray'd. Their lances in the rest are laid. They meet in mortal shock ; And hark ! the throng, with thundering cry, Shout ' Marmion, Marmion ! to the sky, De Wilton to the block ! ' 530 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, gather'd voice, and spoke the rest. 540 XXIX. " Still was false Marmion's bridal stay'd ; 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 remain'd — the King's command Sent Marmion to the Scottish land ; I linger'd here, and rescue plann'd For Clara and for me : 550 64 MARMION [Canto 11. This caitiff monk for gold did swear He would to Whitby's shrine repair. And, by his drugs, my rival fair A saint in heaven should be. But ill the dastard kept his oath. Whose cowardice has undone us both. 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. 560 Had fortune my last hope betray'd. 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 ! 570 If 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 ire 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 ; • 508 Some traveller then shall find my bones Whitening amid disjointed stones, Canto II. J THE COJVVJSNT • 65 And, ignorant of priests' cruelty. Marvel such relics here should be." XXXII. Fix^'d was her look, and stern her air : Back from her shoulders stream^ her hair ; The locks that wont her brow to shade Stared up erectly from her head ; Her figure seem'd to rise more high ; Her voice, despair's wild energy 590 Had given a tone of prophecy. Appaird the astonish'd 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, Kaising his sightless balls to heaven : — " Sister, let thy sorrows cease ; 600 Sinful brother, part in peace ! " From that dire dungeon, place of doom. Of execution too, and tomb. Paced forth the judges three ; Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell The butcher-work that there befell. When they had glided from the cell Of sin and misery. XXXIII. An hundred winding steps convey That conclave to the upper day ; 610 But, ere they breathed the fresher air, They heard the shriekings of despair. And many a stifled groan : (56 MARMION [Canto 11. With speed their upward way they take, (Such speed as age and fear can make,) And cross'd themselves for terror's sake, As hurrying, tottering on, Even in the vesper^s heavenly tone They seem'd to hear a dying groan. And bade the passing knell to toll 620 For welfare of a parting soul. Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, Northumbrian rocks in answer rung ; To Warkworth cell the echoes roll'd, 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, 630 Listed before, aside, behind. Then couch'd him down beside the hind. And quaked among the mountain fern. To hear that sound, so dull and stern. INTKODUCTION TO CANTO THIED. TO WILLIAM ERSKINE, ESQ. Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest, Like 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 sorrow ; 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, 10 And ever swells again as fast. When the ear deems its murmur past ; Thus various, my romantic theme Flits, 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 listen as the breeze Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn trees ; 20 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. 68 M ARM ION In sounds now lowly, and now strong. To raise the desultory song ? Oft, when ^mid such capricious chime. Some transient fit of lofty rhyme To thy kind judgment seemed excuse For many an error of the muse, 30 Oft hast thou said, '' If, still misspent. Thine hours to poetry are lent. Go, 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 ; From them, and from the paths they showed. Choose honour'd guide and practised road ; 40 Nor ramble on through brake 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 ? What ! not a line, a tear, a sigh. When valour bleeds for liberty ? — Oh, hero of that glorious time. When, with unrivall'd light sublime, — 50 Though martial Austria, and though all The might of Russia, and the Gaul, Though banded Europe stood her foes — The star of Brandenburg arose ! Thou couldst not live to see her beam For ever quench'd in Jena's stream. Lamented Chief !— it was not given To thee to change the doom of Heaven, And crush that dragon in its birth. Predestined scourge of guilty earth. 60 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD 69 Lamented Chief I — not thine the power To save in that presumptuous hour. When Prussia hurried to the field. And snatchM the spear, but left the shield ! Valour and skill ^twas thine to try. And, tried in vain, 'twas thine to die. Ill had it seem'd thy silver hair The last, the bitterest pang to share. For princedoms reft, and scutcheons riven. And birthrights to usurpers given ; 70 Thy land^s, thy children'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, ere he strike, shall come To whet his sword on Brun^swick's tomb. 80 " 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 him the war that calls Its votaries to the shattered walls, AVhich the grim Turk, besmear'd with blood, Against the Invincible made good ; Or that whose thundering voice could wake The silence of the polar lake, 90 When stubborn Russ and metal'd Swede On the warp'd wave their death-game play'd ; Or that where Vengeance and Affright Howl'd round the father of the fight, Who snatch'd, on Alexandria's sand, The conqueror's wreath with dying hand. 70 MARMION " Or, if to toucli such cliord be thine. Restore the ancient tragic line. And emulate the notes that rung From the wild harp, which silent hung 100 By silver Avon's holy shore Till twice an hundred years rolFd o'er; When she, the bold Enchantress, came. With fearless hand and heart on flame ! From the pale willow snatch'd the treasure. And swept it with a kindred measure. Till Avon's swans, while rung the grove With Montfort's hate and Basil's love. Awakening at the inspired strain, Deem'd their own Shakespeare lived again." 110 Thy friendship thus thy judgment wronging. With praises not to me belonging, In task more meet for mightiest powers Wouldst thou engage my thriftless hours. But say, my Erskine, hast thou weigh'd That secret power by all obey'd. Which warps not less the passive mind. Its source conceal'd or undefined ; Whether an impulse, that has birth Soon as the infant wakes on earth, 120 One with our feelings and our j)owers. And rather part of us than ours ; Or whether fitlier term'd the sway Of habit, form'd in early day ? Howe'er derived, its force confessed Rules with despotic sway the breast. 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, 130 He seeks not eager to inhale The freshness of the mountain gale. INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD 71 Content to rear his whiten'd 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 weatherbeaten hind. Whose sluggish herds before him wind. Whose tatter'd plaid and rugged cheek His northern clime and kindred speak ; 140 Through England's laughing meads he goes, And England's wealth around him flows ; Ask if it would content him well. At ease in those gay plains to dwell. Where 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 ; Not for fair Devon's meads forsake 150 Ben Nevis grey, and Garry's lake. Thus while I ape the measure wild Of tales that charm'd 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 line, and prompt the lay. Then rise those crags, that mountain tower Which charm'd my fancy's wakening hour. Though no broad river sw^ept along, 160 To claim, perchance, heroic song ; Though sigh'd no groves in summer gale. To prompt of love a softer tale ; Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed Claim'd homage from a shepherd'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 ; 72 MARMION But ever and anon between 170 Lay velvet tufts 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 ruin'd wall. I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade The sun in all its round surveyed ; And still I thought that shattered tower The mightiest work of human power ; And marveird as the aged hind 180 With some strange tale bewitch'd my mind, Of forayers, Avho, with headlong force, Down from that strength had spurr'd their horse, Their southern rapine to renew Far in the distant Cheviots blue. And, home returning, fill'd the hall AVith revel, wassel-rout, and brawl. Methought that still with trump and clang The gateway's broken arches rang ; Methought grim features, seam'd with scars, 190 Glared through the window's rusty bars. And ever, by the winter hearth. Old tales I heard of woe or mirth. Of lovers' sleights, of ladies' charms. Of witclies' 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 their Highland height. The Scottish clans, in headlong sway, 200 Had swept the scarlet ranks away. While stretch'd at length upon the floor. Again I fought each combat o'er. Pebbles and shells, in order laid, The mimic ranks of war display'd ; And onward still the Scottish Lion bore, And still the scattered Southron fled before. INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD 73 Still, with vain fondness, could I trace Anew each kind familiar face That brighten^ at our evening fire ; 210 From the thatch'd mansion's grey-hair'd Sire, Wise without learning, plain and good, And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood ; Whose eye in age, quick, clear, and keen, Show'd what in youth its glance had been ; Whose doom discording neighbours sought. Content with equity unbought ; To him the venerable Priest, Our frequent and familiar guest, Wliose life and manners well could paint 220 Alike the student and the saint ; Alas ! whose speech too oft I broke With gambol rude and timeless joke : For I was wayward, bold, and wild, A self-wiird imp, a grandame's child ; But half a plague, and half a jest. Was still endured, beloved, caress'd. . From me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask The classic poet's well-conn'd task ? Nay, Erskine, nay — on the wild hill 230 Let the wild heath-bell flourish still ; Cherish the tulip, prune the vine. But freely let the woodbine twine. And leave untrimm'd the eglantine : Nay, my 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. 240 Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale. Flow forth, flow unrestrain'd, my Tale ! CANTO THIKD. THE HOSTEL, OR INK I. The livelong day Lord Marmion rode : The mountain path the Palmer showed By glen and streamlet winded still, Where stunted birches hid the rill. They might not choose the lowland road. For the Merse forayers were abroad. Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey. Had scarcely fail'd to bar their way. Oft on the trampling band, from crown Of some tall cliff, the deer looked down ; 10 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 the 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 pass'd before They gain'd the height of Lammermoor ; Thence winding down the northern way, 20 Before them, at the close of day. Old Gifford's towers and hamlet lay. II. No summons calls them to the tower, To spend the hospitable hour. Canto III.] THE HOSTEL 75 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 30 With bush and flagon trimly placed. Lord Marmion drew his rein : The village inn seem'd large, though rude ; Its cheerful fire and hearty food Might well relieve his train. Down from their seats the horsemen sprung, With jingling spurs the court-yard rung ; They bind their horses to the stall. For forage, food, and firing call. And various clamour fills the hall : 40 Weighing the labour with the cost. Toils everywhere the bustling host. III. 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 wnnter cheer ; Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store. And gammons of the tusky boar. And savoury haunch of deer. 50 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. 76 MARMION [Canto III. And view'cl, around the blazing hearth. His followers mix in noisy mirth ; 60 Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide. From ancient vessels ranged aside. Full actively their host supplied. IV. Theirs was the glee of martial breast. And laughter theirs at little jest ; And oft Lord Marmion deign'd 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 70 To win the soldier's hardy heart. They love a captain to obey, Boisterous 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 chief shall lead his host From India's fires to Zembla's frost. V. Resting upon his pilgrim staff, 80 Right opposite the Palmer stood ; His thin dark visage seen but half. Half hidden by his hood. Still fix'd on Marmion was 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. Canto III.] THE HOSTEL 77 VI. By fits less frequent from the crowd 90 Was heard the burst of laughter loud ; For still, as squire and archer stared On that dark face and matted beard, Their glee and game declined. All gazed at length in silence drear, Unbroke, save when in comrade's ear Some yeoman, wondering in his fear. Thus whisper'd forth his mind : — " Saint Mary ! saw'st thou e'er such sight ? How pale his cheek, his eye how bright, 100 Whene'er the firebrand's fickle light Glances beneath his cowl ! Full on our Lord he sets his eye ; For his best palfrey would not I Endure that sullen scowl." VII. But Marmion, as to chase the awe Which thus had quell'd their hearts, who saw The ever-varying fire-light show That figure stern and face of woe, Now call'd upon a squire :— HO '' Fitz-Eustace, know'st thou not some lay. To speed the lingering night away ? We slumber by the fire." — VIII. " So please you," thus the youth rejoin'd, " Our choicest minstrel's left behind. Ill may we hope to please your ear, Accustom'd Constant's strains to hear. The harp full deftly can he strike. And wake the lover's lute alike ; 78 MARMION [Canto 111. To dear Saint Valentine no thrush 120 Sings livelier from a spring-tide bush. No niglitingale her love-lorn tune More sweetly warbles to the moon. Woe to the cause, whatever it be. Detains from us his melody, Lavished on rocks, and billows stern. Or duller monks of Lindisfarne. Now must I venture as I may. To sing his favourite roundelay.'' IX. A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had, 130 The air he chose was wild and sad ; Such have I heard, in Scottish land, Kise from the busy harvest band. When falls before the mountaineer, On lowland plains, the ripen'd ear. Now one shrill voice the notes prolong, Now a wild chorus swells the song : Oft have I listen'd, and stood still. As it came soften'd up the hill. And deem'd it the lament of men 140 AVho languished for their native glen ; And thought how sad would be such sound On Susquehanna's swampy ground, Kentucky's wood-encumber'd brake. Or wild Ontario's boundless lake, Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain, Recall'd fair Scotland's hills again ! X. Where shall the lover rest, Whom the fates sever From his true maiden's breast, 150 Parted for ever ? Canto 111. J THE HOSTEL 79 Where, through groves deep and high, Sounds the far billow. Where early violets die. Under the willow. CHORUS. Eleic loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow. There, through the summer day. Cool streams are laving ; There, while the tempests sway. Scarce are boughs waving ; IGO There thy rest shalt thou take. Parted for ever, Never again to wake. Never, never ! CHORUS. Eleu loro, &c. Never, never ! XI. Where shall the traitor rest. He the deceiver, AVho could win maiden^s breast. Ruin, and leave her ? In the lost battle, 170 Borne down by the flying. Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying. CHORUS. Eleu loro, &c. There shall he be lying. Her wing shall the eagle flap O'er the false-hearted ; His warm blood tlie Avolf shall lap. Ere life be parted. 80 MARMION [Canto 111. Shame and dishonour sit By his grave ever ; 180 Blessing shall hallow it, — Never, never. CHORUS. Eleu loro, &c. Never, 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 plain'd as if disgrace and ill, And shameful death, were near. He drew his mantle past his face, 190 Between it and the band, And rested with his head a space Reclining on his hand. His thoughts I 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 Lutterward and Fontenaye. XIII. High minds, of native pride and force, 200 Most deeply feel thy pangs, Eemorse ! Fear, for their scourge, mean villains 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 Marmion raised his head. And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said, — Canto III.] THE HOSTEL 81 ^^Is it not strange that, as ye sung, 210 Seemed in mine ear a death-peal rung, Such as in nunneries they toll For some departing sister^s soul ? Say, what may this portend ? " — Then first the Palmer silence broke, (The livelong 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, 220 Even from his King, a haughty look ; Whose accents of command controird. In camps, the boldest of the bold — Thought, look, and utterance fail'd him now. Fallal was his glance, and flushed his brow : For either in the tone, , Or something in the Palmer's look, So full upon his conscience strook. That answer he found none. Thus oft it haps that when within 230 They shrink at sense of secret sin, A feather daunts the brave ; A fooFs wild speech confounds the wise. And proudest princes vail their e3'es Before their meanest slave. XV. Well might he falter ! — By his aid Was Constance Beverley betray'd. Not that he augur'd of the doom Which on the living closed the tomb : But, tired to hear the desperate maid 240 Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid ; 82 MABMION [Canto III. And wroth because, in wild despair. She practised on the life of Clare ; Its fugitive the Cliurch he gave, Though not a victim, but a slave ; And deemed restraint in convent strange AVould hide her wrongs, and her revenge. Himself, proud Henry's favourite peer. Held Eomish thunders idle fear, Secure his pardon he might hold 250 For some slight mulct of penance-gold. Thus judging, he gave secret way, When the stern priests surprised their prey. His train but deem'd the favourite page Was left behind, to spare his age ; Or other if they deemM, none dared To mutter what he thought and heard : Woe to the vassal, wdio durst pry Into Lord Marmion's privacy ! XVI. His conscience slept — he deemM her well, 260 And safe secured in yonder cell ; i But, waken'd 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 venom'd throes. Dark tales of convent-vengeance rose ; And Constance, late betray'd and scorn'd, | All lovely on his soul returnM ; j Lovely as when, at treacherous call, 270 She left her convent's peaceful wall, Crimson'd with shame, with terror mute. Dreading alike escape, pursuit. Till love, victorious o'er alarms, ■ Hid fears and blushes in his arms. Canto lll.j THE HOSTEL 83 XVII. " Alas ! '' he thought, " how changed that mien ! How changed these timid looks have been. Since years of guilt and of disguise Have steeFd her brow, and arm'd her eyes ! No more of virgin terror speaks 280 The blood that mantles in her cheeks ; Fierce and unfeminine are there Frenzy for joy, for grief despair ; And I the cause — for whom were given Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven ! — Would," thought he, as the picture grows, ^' I on its stalk had left the rose ! 0, why should man^s success remove The very charms that wake his love ! — Her convent's peaceful solitude 290 Is now a prison harsh and rude ; And, pent within the narrow cell. How will her spirit chafe and swell ! ' How brook the stern monastic laws ! The penance how — and I the cause ! — Vigil, and scourge — perchance even worse ! " — And twice he rose to cry, '^ To horse ! '' And twice his sovereign's mandate came, Like damp upon a kindling flame ; And twice he thought, " Gave I not charge 300 She should be safe, though not at large ? They durst not, for their island, shred One golden ringlet from her head/' XVIII. While thus in Marmion's bosom strove Repentance and reviving love. Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway Fve seen Loch Vennachar obey. Their host the Palmer's speech had heard. And, talkative, took up the word : 84 MARMION [Canto III. ^'Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you who stray 310 From Scotland's simple land away, To visit realms afar, Full often learn the art to know Of future weal, or future woe. By word, or sign, or star ; Yet might a knight his fortune hear, If, knight-like, he despises fear, Not far from hence ; — if fathers old Aright our hamlet legend told." — These broken words the menials move, 320 (For marvels still the vulgar love,) And Marmion giving license cold. His tale the host thus gladly told :— XIX. V^t fosl's fak " A Clerk could tell what years have flown Since Alexander filFd 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 hour 330 Of midnight, spoke the word of power : , The same whom ancient records call ; The founder of the Goblin-Hall. j I would. Sir Knight, your longer stay j Gave you that cavern to survey. i 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, j There never toiFd a mortal arm, 340 j It all was wrought by word and charm ; j Canto III.] THE HOSTEL 85 And I have heard my grandsire say- That the wild clamour and affray Of those dread artisans of hell, Who laboured under Hugo^s spell. Sounded as loud as ocean's war, Among the caverns of Dunbar. XX. '* The King Lord Gifford's castle sought. Deep labouring with uncertain thought ; Even then he mustered all his host, 350 To meet upon the western coast ; For N"orse and Danish galleys plied Their oars within the Frith of Clyde. There floated Haco's banner trim. Above ]S"orweyan warriors grim. Savage of heart, and large of limb ; Threatening both continent and isle, Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle. Lord Gifford, deep beneath the ground. Heard Alexander's bugle sound, 360 And tarried not his garb to change. But, in his wizard habit strange. Came forth, — a quaint and fearful sight ; His mantle lined with fox-skins white ; His high and wrinkled forehead bore A pointed cap, such as of yore Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi wore : His shoes were mark'd with cross and spell, Upon his breast a pentacle ; His zone, of virgin parchment thin, 370 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 sword without a guard. SQ MARMION [Canto 111. XXL '^Dire dealings with the fiendish race Had mark'd strange lines upon his face ; Vigil and fast had worn him grim. His eyesight dazzled seemM and dim, As one unused to upper day ; 380 Even his own menials with dismay Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly Sire, In his unwonted wild attire ; Unwonted, for traditions run. He seldom thus beheld the sun. ^ I know,"* he said, — his voice was hoarse. And broken seem'd its hollow force, — * I know the cause, although untold. Why the King seeks his vassaFs hold : Vainly from me my liege would know 390 His kingdom's future weal or woe ; But yet, if strong his arm and heart. His courage may do more than art. XXII. " ' Of middle air the demons proud. Who ride upon the racking cloud. Can read, in fix'd or wandering star, The issue of events afar ; But still their sullen aid withhold. Save when by mightier force controird. Such late I summoned to my hall ; 400 And though so potent was the call That scarce the deepest nook of hell I deem'd a refuge from the spell. Yet, obstinate in silence still. The haughty demon mocks my skill. But thou, — who little know'st thy might. As born upon that blessed night When yawning graves, and dying groan. Proclaim^ helFs empire overthrown, — Canto III.] THE HOSTEL 87 With untaught valour shalt compel 410 Eesponse denied to magic spell/ — ' Gramercy/ quoth our Monarch free, ' Place him but front to front with me. And, by this good and lionourM brand. The gift of Coeur-de-Lion^s hand, Soothly I swear that, tide what tide. The demon shall a buffet bide.' — His bearing bold the wizard viewM, And thus, well pleased, his speech renewM : — '^ There spoke the blood of Malcolm ! — mark : 420 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 worst enemy : Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed — Upon him ! and Saint George to speed ! If he go down, thou soon shalt know 430 Whatever these airy sprites can show : — If thy heart fail thee in the strife, I am no warrant for thy life/ XXIII. ^' Soon as the midnight bell did ring. Alone, and arniM, forth rode the King To that old campus deserted round : Sir Knight, you well might mark the mound. Left hand the town, — the Pictish race. The trench, long since, in blood did trace ; The moor around is brown and bare, 440 The space within is green and fair. The spot our village children know. For there the earliest wild-flowers gvow ; But woe betide the wandering wight That treads its circle in the night ! 88 MARMION [Canto III. • The breadth across, a bowshot clear, ; G-ives ample space for full career ; : Opposed to the four points of heaven, \ By four deep gaps are entrance given. The southernmost our Monarch past, 450 Halted, and blew 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 the leopards in the shield. Alike his Syrian courser's frame, ■ The rider's length of limb the same : J Long afterwards did Scotland know, 460 ' Fell Edward was her deadliest foe. XXIV. '' The vision made our Monarch start, j But soon he mann'd his noble heart, I And in the first career they ran, :\ The Elfin Knight fell, horse and man ; I Yet did a splinter of his lance ] Through Alexander's visor glance, \ And razed the skin — a puny wound. ; The King, light leaping to the ground. With naked blade his phantom foe 470 ; Compell'd the future war to show. i Of Largs he saw the glorious plain, I Where still gigantic bones remain, ] Memorial of the Danish war ; \ Himself he saw, amid the field, On high his brandish'd war-axe wield, And strike proud Haco from his car, j While all around the shadowy kings _ \ Denmark's grim ravens cower'd their wings. j 'Tis said that, in that awful night, 480 Remoter visions met his sight, j Canto III.] THE HOSTEL 89 Foreshowing future conquest far. When our sons' sons wage northern war ; A royal city, tower and spire, KeddenM the midnight sky with fire, And shouting crews her navy 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, 490 Headed his host, and quelFd the Dane ; But yearly, when returned the night Of his strange combat with the sprite. His wound must bleed and smart ; Lord Gifford then would gibing say, * Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay The penance of your start.' Long since, beneath Dunfermline's nave, King Alexander fills his grave, Our Lady give him rest ! 500 Yet still the knightly spear and shield The Elfin Warrior doth wield. Upon the brown hill's breast ; And many a knight hath proved his chance. In the charm'd ring to break a lance. But all have foully sped ; 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, 510 And on the tale the yeoman-throng Had made a comment sage and long. But Marmion gave a sign : And, with their lord the squires retire ; The rest around the hostel fire 90 MARMION [Canto III. Their drowsy limbs recline : For pillow, underneath each head. The quiver and the targe were laid. Deep slumbering on the hostel floor. Oppressed with toil and ale, they snore : 520 The dying flame, in fitful change. Threw on the group its shadows strange. XXVII. Apart, and nestling in the hay Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay ; Scarce, by the pale moonlight, were 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. 530 A cautious tread his slumber broke, And, close beside him when he woke, In moonbeam half, and half in gloom. Stood a tall form, with nodding plume ; But, ere his dagger Eustace drew. His master Marmion's voice he knew. XXVIII. — '^ Fitz-Eustace ! rise, — I cannot rest ; Yon churFs wild legend haunts my breast, And graver thoughts have chafed my mood : The air must cool my feverish blood ; 540 And fain would I ride 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 such a tale," — - Canto III.] THE HOSTEL 91 Then softly down the steps they slid, Eustace the stable door undid, 550 And, darkling, Marmion's steed arrayed. While, whispering, thus the Baron said : — XXIX. " Did'st never, good my youth, hear tell. That on the hour Avhen I was born. Saint George, who graced my sire's chapelle, Down from his steed of marble fell, A weary wight forlorn ? The flattering chaplains all agree The champion left his steed to me. I would, the omen's truth to show, 560 That I could meet this Elfin Foe ! 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 dashing 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, 570 And mark'd 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 seem'd, in the squire's eyes. That one, so wary held and wise, — Of whom 'twas said, he scarce received For gospel, what the Church believed, — Should, stirr'd by idle tale, 580 92 MARMION [Canto III. Kide forth in silence of the night. As hoping half to meet a sprite, Array'd 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 welcome fond credulity. Guide confident, though blind. XXXI. Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared, 590 But, patient, waited till he heard. At distance, prick'd to utmost speed. The foot-tramp of a flying steed Come town-ward rushing on ; First, dead, as if on turf it trode. Then, clattering on the village road, — In other pace than forth he yode. Returned Lord Marmion. Down hastily he sprung from selle. And, in his haste, wellnigh he fell ; 600 To the squire's hand the rein he threw. And spoke no word as he withdrew : But yet the moonlight did betray, The falcon-crest was soil'd 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, 610 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. INTEODUCTION TO CANTO FOUETH. TO JAMES SKENE, ESQ. • Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. Ax ancient Minstrel sagely said, '' AVhere is the life which late we led ? " That motley clown in Arden wood, Whom humorous Jacques with envy view'd, 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 ; lo And sure, through many a varied scene, Unkindness never came between. Away these winged years have flown, To join the mass of ages gone ; And though deep mark'd, like all below. With chequered shades of joy and woe ; Though thou o'er realms and seas hast ranged, Mark'd cities lost, and empires changed, While here at home my narrower ken Somewhat of manners saw, and men ; 20 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 we glide down to the sea Of fathomless eternity. 94 MARMION Even now it scarcely seems a day, Since first I tuned this idle lay ; A task so often thrown aside, When leisure graver cares denied, 30 That now November's dreary gale, AVhose voice inspired my opening tale. That same November gale once more Whirls the dry leaves on Yarrow shore. Their vex'd boughs streaming to the sky. Once more our naked birches sigh. And Blackhouse heights, and Ettrick Pen, Have donn'd their wintry shrouds again ; And mountain dark, and flooded mead. Bid us forsake the banks of Tweed. 40 Earlier than wont along the sky, Mix'd with the rack, the snow mists fly ; The shepherd who, in summer sun. Had 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-flowers lay, View'd the light clouds with vacant look, Or slumber'd o'er his tatter'd book, 50 Or idly busied him to guide His angle o'er the lessen'd tide ; — At midnight now, the snowy plain Finds sterner labour for the swain. When red hath set the beamless sun. Through heavy vapours dank and dun ; When the tired ploughman, dry and warm, Hears, half asleep, the rising storm Hurling the hail, and sleeted rain, Against the casement's tinkling pane ; 60 The sounds that drive wild deer, and fox. To shelter in the brake and rocks. tNTRODtfCfiON TO CANTO FOURTH 95 Are warnings which the shepherd ask To dismal and to dangerous task. Oft he looks forth, and 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 whine, 70 To leave the hearth his dogs repine ; Whistling and cheering them to aid. Around his back he wreathes the plaid : His flock he gathers and he guides To open downs, and mountain-sides, AVhere fiercest though the tempest blow. Least deeply lies the drift below. The blast that whistles o'er the fells Stiffens his locks to icicles ; Oft he looks back while, streaming far, 80 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 his lagging sheep. If fails his heart, if his limbs fail. Benumbing death is in the gale : His paths, his landmarks, all unknown. Close to the hut, no more his own. Close to the aid he sought in vain, 90 The morn may find the stiffened swain : The widow sees, at dawning pale. His orphans raise their feeble wail ; And, close beside him in the snow. Poor Yarrow, partner of their woe, Couches upon his master's breast. And licks his cheek to break his rest. Who envies now the shepherd's lot, His healthy fare, his rural cot. 96 MABMION His summer coucli by greenwood tree, 100 His rustic kirn^'s loud revelry, His native hill-notes, tuned on high, To Marion of the blithesome 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 youthful summer oft we see Dance by on wings of game and glee. While the dark storm reserves its rage, 110 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 CalFd 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, 120 Whose joys are chasten'd by their grief. And such a lot, my Skene, was thine, When thou of late wert doom'd to twine, — Just when thy bridal hour was by, — The cypress with the myrtle tie. Just on thy bride her Sire had smiled. And bless'd 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 130 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 — INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH 97 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 mourn ; The thousand eyes his care had dried 140 Pour at his name a bitter tide ; And frequent falls the grateful dew. For benefits the world ne'er knew. If mortal charity dare 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 Avrote, 150 " 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 Recalls our summer walks again ; YVlien, doing nought, — and, to speak true, Not anxious to find aught to do, — The wild unbounded hills we ranged, 160 While oft our talk its topic changed. And, desultory as our way, Ranged unconfined from grave to gay. Even when it flagg'd, as oft will chance. No effort made to break its trance. We could right pleasantly pursue Our sports in social silence too ; Thou gravely labouring to portray The blighted oak's fantastic spray ; I spelling o'er, with much delight, 170 The legend of that antique knight, Tirante by name, yclep'd the White. 08 MARMION At eitlier's feet a trusty squire, Piuidour and Camp, with eyes of fire. Jealous, each other's motions view'd. And scarce suppressed their ancient feud. The laverock whistled from the cloud ; The stream was lively, but not loud ; From the white thorn the May-flower shed Its dewy fragrance round our head : 180 Not Ariel lived more merrily Under the blossom'd bough, than we. And blithesome nights, too, have been ours. When AVinter 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 beani'd gay, And ladies tuned the lovely lay ; And he was held a laggard soul Who shunned to quaff the sparkling bowl. 190 Then he whose absence we deplore. Who breathes the gales of Devon's shore. The longer miss'd, bewail'd the more ; And thou, and I, and dear-loved R , And one whose name I may not say, — For not ^limosa's tender tree Shrinks sooner from the touch than he, — In merry chorus well combined. With laughter drown'd the whistling wind. Mirth was within ; and Care without *200 Might gnaw her nails to hear our shout. Not but amid the buxom scene 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. INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH 99 And though the field-day, or the drill, 210 Seem less important now — yet still Such may we hope to share again. • The sprightly thought inspires my strain ! And mark how, like a horseman true, Lord Marmion^s march I thus renew. CANTO FOUKTH. j i THE GAMP. \ I. j Eustace, I said, did blithely mark ; The first notes of the merry lark. ] The lark sang shrill, the cock he crew, ; And loudly Marmion's bugles blew. And with their light and lively call j Brought 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 something disarranged. 10 Some clamour'd loud for armour lost ; '■ Some brawFd and wrangled with the host ; i '' By Becket's bones," cried one, '' I fear 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 squire like thunder. Old Hubert shouts, in fear and wonder, — 20 " Help, gentle Blount ! help, comrades all ! j Bevis lies dying in his stall : i To Marmion who the plight dare tell i Of the good steed he loves so well ? " — ! Gaping for fear and ruth, they saw | The charger panting on his straw ; Canto IV.] THE CAMP 101 Till one, who would seem wisest, cried, — '^ What else bnt evil could betide. With that cursed Palmer for our guide ? Better we had through mire and bush 30 Been lantern-led by Friar Rush." II. Fitz-Eustace, who the cause but guessM, 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 thought, And did his tale display Simply, as if he knew of nought To cause such disarray. 40 Lord Marmion gave attention cold. Nor marvell'd at the wonders told, — Pass'd them as accidents of course. And bade his clarions sound to horse. III. Young Henry Blount, meanwhile, the cost Had reckoned with their Scottish host ; And, as the charge he cast and paid, " 111 thou deserv^st thy hire," he said ; '^ Dost see, thou knave, my horse^s plight ? Fairies have ridden him all the night, 50 And left him in a foam ! I trust that soon a conjuring band, 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." — 102 MARMION [Canto IV. The laughing host look'd on the hire, — ^' Gramercy, gentle southern squire, . And if thou com^st among the rest, " 60 With Scottish broadsword to be blest. Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow. And short the pang to undergo/^ Here stay'd their 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 was smooth and good. Through Humbie's and through Saltoun's wood ; A forest glade, which, varying still, 70 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. 80 Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells ; And oft in such, the story 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 design 'd ; For Eustace much had pored Upon a huge romantic tome, In the hall- window of his home, Imprinted at the antique dome 90 Of Caxton, or de Worde. Therefore he spoke, — but spoke in vain. For Marmion answer'd nought again. Canto IV.] THE CAMP 103 V. Now sudden, distant trumpets shrill, In notes prolonged by wood and hill, Were heard to echo far ; Each ready archer graspM his bow, But by the flourish soon they know They breathed no point of war. Yet cautious, as in foeman^s land, 100 Lord Marmion's order speeds the band Some opener ground to gain ; And scarce a furlong had they rode, AVlien thinner trees, receding, show'd A little woodland plain. Just in that advantageous glade The halting troop a line had made. As forth from the opposing shade Issued a gallant train. VI. First came the trumpets, at whose clang 110 . So late the forest echoes rang ; On prancing steeds they forward press'd. With scarlet mantle, azure vest ; Each at his trump a banner wore. Which Scotland's royal scutcheon bore : Heralds and pursuivants, by name Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothsay, came. In painted tabards, proudly showing Gules, Argent, Or, and Azure glowing. Attendant on a King-at-arms, 120 Whose hand the armorial truncheon held That feudal strife had often quelFd When wildest its alarms. VII. He was a man of middle age ; In aspect manly, grave, and sage. As on King's errand come ; 104 MARMION [Canto IV. But in the glances of his eye, A penetrating, keen, and sly Expression found its home ; The flash of that satiric rage, 130 Which, bursting on the early stage. Branded the vices of the age. And 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 shoulder, loin, and breast. Silk housings swept the ground, With Scotland's arms, device, and crest. Embroidered round and round. 140 The double tressure might you see, First by Achaius borne. The thistle and the fleur-de-lis. And gallant unicorn. So bright the King's armorial coat, j That scarce the dazzled eye could note, j In living colours, blazon'd brave, i The Lion, which his title gave ; i A train, which well beseem'd his state, \ But all unarm'd, around him wait. 150 < Still is thy name in high account, | And still thy verse has charms, ] Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, j Lord Lion King-at-arms ! j VIII. Down from his horse did Marmion spring. Soon as he saw the Lion-King ; For well the stately Baron knew To him such courtesy was due. Whom royal James himself had crown'd. And on his temples placed the round IGO Of Scotland's ancient diadem. Canto IV.] THE GAMP 105 And wet his brow with hallow'd wine. And on his finger given to shine The emblematic gem. Their mutual greetings duly made. The Lion thus his message said : — *' Though Scotland's King hath deeply swore Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more. And strictly hath forbid resort From England to his royal court ; 170 Yet, for he knows Lord Marmion's name. And honours much his warlike fame, My liege hath deem'd it shame, and lack Of courtesy, to turn him back ; And, by his order, I, your guide. Must lodging fit and fair provide. 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. 180 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 Mar m ion's band Should sever from the train : *' England has here enow of spies In Lady Heron's witching eyes : " To Marchmount thus apart he said. But fair pretext to Marmion made. 190 The right hand path they now decline. And trace against the stream the Tyne. X. At length up that wild dale they wind, Where Crichtoun Castle crowns the bank ; 106 MARMION [Canto IV. For there the Lion^s care assigned A lodging meet for Marmion'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, 200 Where alders moist and willows weep. You hear her streams repine. The towers in diH erent ages rose ; Their various architecture shows The builders' various hands ; A mighty mass, that could oppose. When deadliest hatred fired its foes. The vengeful Douglas bands. XL Crichtoun ! though now thy miry court But pens the lazy steer and sheep, 210 Thy turrets rude, and totter'd keep Have been the minstreFs loved resort. Oft have I traced, within thy fort. Of mouldering shields the mystic sense. Scutcheons of honour or pretence, Quartered in old armorial sort. Remains of rude magnificence. Nor wholly yet hath time defaced Thy lordly gallery fair ; Nor yet the stony cord unbraced, 220 Whose twisted knots, with roses laced, Adorn thy ruined stair. Still rises unimpaired below The court-yard^s graceful portico ; Above its cornice, row and row Of fair hewn facets richly show Their pointed diamond form, Though there but houseless cattle go. To shield them from the storm. Canto IV.] THE GAMP 107 And, shuddering, still may we explore, 230 Where oft whilom were captives pent, The darkness of thy Massy More ; Or, from thy grass-grown battlement, May trace, in undulating line. The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. XII. Another aspect Crichtoun showed. As through its portal Marmion rode ; But yet 'twas melancholy state Received him at the outer gate ; For none were in the castle then 240 But women, boys, or aged men. With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame To welcome noble Marmion came ; Her son, a stripling twelve years old, Proiler'd the Barony's rein to hold ; For each man that could draw a sword Had march'd 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 ! 250 She ne'er shall see his gallant train Come sweeping back through Crichtoun-Dean. ■'Twas a brave race, before the name Of hated Bothwell stain'd their fame. XIII. And here two days did Marmion rest, AVith every rite that honour claims. Attended as the King's own guest ; — Such the command of Royal James, Who marshall'd then his land's array, Upon the Borough-moor that lay. 260 Perchance he would not foeman's eye Upon his gathering host should pry. lOS MARMION [Canto IV. Till full prepared was every band To inarch against the English land. Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's wit Oft cheer the Barents moodier fit : And, in his turn, he knew to prize Lord Marmion's powerful mind, and wise, — Trained in the lore of Rome and Greece, And policies of war and peace. 270 XIV. It chanced, as fell the second night. That on the battlements they walk'd. And, by the slowly fading light. Of varying topics talked ; And, unaware, the Herald-bard Said Marmion might his toil have spared In travelling so far ; For that a messenger from heaven In vain to James had counsel given Against the English war : 280 And, closer questioned, thus he told A tale which chronicles of old In Scottish story have enrolFd : — XV. '^ Of all the palaces so fair. Built for the royal dwelling, In Scotland, far beyond compare Linlithgow is excelling ; And in its park, in jovial June, How sweet the merry linnet's tune. How blithe the blackbird's lay ! 290 Canto IV.] THE GAMP 109 The wild buck bells from ferny brake. The coot dives merry on the lake, The saddest heart might pleasure take To see all nature gay. But June is to our Sovereign dear The heaviest month in all the year : Too well his cause of grief you know, June saw his father's overthrow. Woe to the traitors who could bring The princely boy against his King ! 300 Still in his conscience burns the sting. In offices as strict as Lent, King James's June is ever spent. XVI. '' AVhen last this ruthful month was come. And in Linlithgow's holy dome The King, as wont, was praying ; While for his royal father's soul The chanters sung, the bells did toll. The Bishop mass was saying — For now the year brought round again 310 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 Thistle's Knight-Companions sate, Their banners o'er them beaming. I too was there, and, sooth to tell, Bedeafen'd with the jangling knell. Was watching where the sunbeams fell, 320 Through the stain'd casement gleaming ; But while I mark'd what next befell It seem'd as I were dreaming. Stepp'd from the crowd a ghostly wight, In azure gown, with cincture white ; 110 MA BMION [Canto IV . 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 placid grace, 330 His simple majesty of face. His solemn bearing, and his pace So stately gliding on, — Seem'd 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 Monarch's chair. And stood with rustic plainness there. And little reverence made ; 340 Nor head, nor body, bow'd nor bent. But on the desk his arm he leant. And words like these he said. In a low voice, — but never tone So thriird through vein, and nerve, and bone : — ' My mother sent me from afar. Sir King, to warn thee not to war, — Woe waits on. thine array; If war thou wilt, of woman fair. Her witching wiles and wanton snare, 350 James Stuart, doubly warn'd, beware : God keep thee as He may ! ' — The wondering Monarch seem'd to seek For answer, and found none ; And when he raised his head to speak. The monitor was gone. The Marshal and myself had cast To stop him as he outward pass'd ; But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast, He vanish 'd from our eyes, 360 Canto IV.] THE GAMP 111 Like sunbeam on the billow cast. That glances but, and dies/' XVIII. While Lindesay told his marvel strange, The twilight was so pale. He mark'd not Marmion's colour change, AVhile listening to the tale : But, after a suspended pause. The Baron spoke .—" Of Nature's laws So strong I held the force. That never superhuman cause 370 Could e/er control their course ; And, three days since, had judged your aim Was but to make your guest your game. But I have seen, since past the Tweed, What much has changed my sceptic creed, And made me credit aught." — He stayed. And seem'd to wish his words unsaid : But, by that strong emotion press'd Which prompts us to unload our breast. Even when discovery's pain, 380 To Lindesay did at length unfold The tale his village host had told. At Gitford, to his train. 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 couch'd my head : Fantastic thoughts return'd ; 390 And, by their wild dominion led. My heart within me burn'd. 112 MARMION [Canto IV. 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 pass'd through. And halted, and my bugle blew. Methought an answer met my ear, — Yet was the blast so low and drear, 400 So hollow, and so faintly blown. It might be echo of my own. XX. ^' Thus judging, for a little space I listened, ere I left the place; But scarce could trust my eyes. Nor yet can think they serve me true. When sudden in the ring I view, In form distinct of shape and hue, A mounted champion rise. — I've fought, Lord-Lion, many a day, 410 In single fight, and mix'd affray. And ever, I myself may say, Have borne me as a knight ; But when this unexpected foe Seem'd starting from the gulf below, — I care not though the truth I show, — I trembled with affright ; And as I placed in rest my spear. My hand so shook for very fear, I scarce could couch it right. 420 XXL *' "Why need my tongue the issue tell ? We ran our course, — my charger fell ; — What could he Against the shock of hell ? I roird upon the plain. Canto IV.] THE CAMP 113 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 ! 430 Full on his face the moonbeam strook ! — A face 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, has long been dead, — I Avell believe the last ; For ne'er, from vizor raised, did stare A human warrior, with a glare So grimly and so ghast. 440 Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade ; But when to good Saint George I pray'd, (The first time e'er I ask'd his aid), He plunged it in the sheath ; And, on his courser mounting light. He seem'd to vanish from my sight : The moonbeam droop'd, and deepest night Sunk down upon the heath. — 'Twere long to tell what cause I have To know his face that met me there, 450 Call'd by his hatred from the grave. To cumber upper air : Dead or alive, good cause had he To be my mortal enemy." XXII. Marvell'd Sir David of the Mount ; Then, learn'd in story, 'gan recount Such chance had happ'd of old, When once, near Norham, there did fight A spectre fell of fiendish might. 114 MARMION [Canto IV. In likeness of a Scottish knight, 460 With Brian Buhner bold, And train'd him nigh to disallow The aid of his baptismal vow. '' And such a phantom, too, 'tis said. With Highland broadsword, targe, and plaid. And fingers red with gore. Is seen in Rothiemnrcns glade. Or where the sable pine-trees shade Dark Tomantoul, and Auchnaslaid, Dromouchty, or Glenmore. 470 And yet, whate'er such legends say Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay. On mountain, moor, or plain. Spotless in faith, in bosom bold. True son of chivalry should hold These midnight terrors vain ; For seldom have such spirits power To harm, save in the evil hour When guilt we meditate within. Or harbour unrepented sin.'' — 480 Lord Marmion turii'd him half aside. And twice to clear his voice he tried. Then press'd Sir David's hand, — But nought, at length, in answer said ; And here their farther converse staid. Each ordering that his band Should bowne them with the rising day. To Scotland's camp to take their way, — Such was the King's command. XXIII. Early they took Dun-Edin's road, 490 And I could trace each step they trode : Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stone. Lies on the path to me unknown. Canto IV.] THE GAMP 115 Much might it boast of storied lore ; But, passing such digression o'er. Suffice it that their route was laid Across the furzy hills of Braid. They pass'd the glen and scanty rill. And climb'd the opposing bank, until They gained the top of Blackford Hill. 500 XXIV. Blackford ! on whose uncultured breast, Among the broom, and thorn, and whin, A truant-boy, I sought the nest. Or listed, as I lay at rest. While rose, on breezes thin. The murmur of the city crowd. 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 ; 510 And o^'er the landscape as I look. Nought do I see unchanged remain, Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook. To me they make a heavy moan. Of early friendships past and gone. XXV. But different 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, 520 Spread all the Borough-moor below. Upland, and dale, and down : — A thousand did I say ? I ween. Thousands on thousands there were seen That chequer'd all the heath between The streamlet and the town ; lie MARMION [Canto IV. In crossing ranks extending far, , Forming a camp irregular ; j Oft giving Avay, where still there stood Some relics of the old oak wood, 530 That darkly huge did intervene, And tamed the glaring white with green : In these extended lines there lay A martial kingdom^s vast array. XXVI. For from Hebudes, dark with rain. To eastern Lodon's fertile plain, I And from the southern Redswire edge, ] To furthest Rosse's rocky ledge, From west to east, from south to north, I Scotland sent all her warriors forth. 540 Marmion might hear the mingled hum ] Of myriads up the mountain come ; i The horses^ tramp, and tinkling clank, j Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank, \ And charger's shrilling neigh ; j And see the shifting lines advance, 1 While frequent flashed, from shield and lance. The sun^s reflected ray. XXVII. ^ Thin curling in the morning air. The wreaths of failing smoke declare 550 To embers now the brands decayed. Where the night-watch their fires had made. They saw, slow rolling on the plain. Full many a baggage-cart and wain. And dire artillery's clumsy car. By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war ; And there Avere Borthwick's Sisters Seven, And culverins which France had given. Canto I V.J THE CAMP 117 Ill-omen\l gift ! the guns remain The conqueror^s spoil on Flodden plai 560 XXVIII. Nor marked they less, where in the air A thousand streamers flaunted fair ; Various in shape, device, and hue, Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue. Broad, narrow, swallow-taird, and square. Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol, there O^er the pavilions flew. Highest and midmost, was descried The royal banner floating wide ; The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight, 570 Pitched deeply in a massive stone. Which still in memory is shown. Yet bent beneath the standard's Ateight Whene'er the western wind unroU'd. With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold. And gave to view the dazzling field. Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield. The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold. XXIX. Lord Marmion view'd the landscape bright, — He view'd it with a chief's delight, — 580 Until within him burn'd 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, 590 118 MARMIOJ^ [Canto IV. Should once to peace my soul incline, Till I had dimm'd their armour's shine In glorious battle-fray ! '^ Answer'd 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 bless'd, 'Tis better to sit still at rest. Than rise, perchance to fall." XXX. still on the spot Lord Marmion stayed, 600 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, 610 Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. Such dusky grandeur clothed the height Where the huge castle holds its state. And all the steep slope down. Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, Piled deep and massy, close and high, Mine own romantic town ! But northward far, with purer blaze. On Ochil mountains fell the rays. And as each heathy top they kiss'd, 620 It gleam'd a purple amethyst. Yonder the shores of Fife you saw ; Here Preston-Bay, and Berwick-Law ; And, broad between them roll'd. Canto IV.] THE CAMP 119 The gallant Frith the eye might note. Whose islands on its bosom float, Like emeralds chased in gold. Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent ; As if to give his rapture vent. The spur he to his charger lent, 630 And raised his bridle hand. And, making demi-volte in air. Cried, " Where 's the coward that would not dare To fight for such a land ! " The Lindesay smiled his joy to see ; Nor Marmion^s frown repressed his glee. XXXI. Thus while they looked, a flourish proud. Where mingled trump, and clarion loud. And fife, and kettle-drum. And sackbut deep, and psaltery, 640 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, with distant chime. Merrily toll'd the hour of prime. And thus the Lindesay spoke : *' Thus clamour still the war-notes when The King to mass his way has ta'en. Or to Saint Katharine's of Sienne, 650 Or Chapel of Saint Rocque. To you they speak of martial fame ; But me remind of peaceful game. When blither was their cheer. Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air. In signal none his steed should spare. But strive which foremost might repair To the downfall of the deer. 120 MARMION [Canto IV. XXXII. ** Nor less/' he said, — " when looking forth, I view yon Empress of the North 660 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 woe mischance may bring, And how these merry bells may ring The death-dirge of our gallant King ; Or with their larum call The burghers forth to watch and ward, 670 'Gainst Southern sack and fires to guard Dun-Edin's leaguer'd 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, — But thou thyself shalt say, When joins yon host in deadly stowre, That England's dames must weep in bower, 680 Her monks the death-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 His hand o'er every Border string. And fit his harp the pomp to sing Of Scotland's ancient Court and King, 690 In the succeeding lay. INTEODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH. TO GEORGE ELLIS, ESQ. Edinbicrgh. Whej^" dark December glooms the day, And takes our autumn joys away ; When short and scant the sunbeam throws. Upon tlie weary waste of snows, A cold and profitless regard. Like patron on a needy bard ; When silvan occupation 's done. And o'er the chimney rests the gun. And hang in idle trophy near. The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear ; 10 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 the hardiest step to roam. Since path is none, save that to bring The needful water from the spring ; 20 When wrinkled news-page, thrice conn'd o'er, Beguiles the dreary hour no more, And darkling politician, cross'd. Inveighs against the lingering post. And answering housewife sore complains Of carriers' snow-impeded wains ; Wlien such the country cheer, I come Well pleased to seek our city home ; 122 MARMION For converse, and for books, to change The Forest's melancholy range, 30 And welcome with renew'd 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 Ettrick 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, 40 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 with iron prong. That long is gone, — but not so long Since, early closed, and opening late. Jealous revolved the studded gate, Whose task, from eve to morning tide, 50 A wicket churlishly supplied. Stern then, and steel-girt was thy brow, Dun-Edin ! 0, how altered now. When safe amid thy mountain court Thou sitt'st, like empress at her sport ; And liberal, unconfined, and free. Flinging thy white arms to the sea. For thy dark cloud, with umber'd lower, That hung o'er cliff, and lake, and tower. Thou gleam'st against the western ray 60 Ten thousand lines of brighter day. Not she, th6 Ohampioness of old. In Spenser's magic tale enroll'd, INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH 123 She for the charmed spear renownM, AVhich forced each knight to kiss the ground, — Not she more changed, when, placed at rest. What time she was Malbecco's guest. She gave to flow her maiden vest ; When from the corselet's grasp relieved. Free to the sight her bosom heaved ; 70 Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile. Erst hidden by the aventayle ; And down her shoulders graceful rolled Her locks profuse, of paly gold. They who whilom, in midnight fight. Had marvelFd at her matchless might, No less her maiden charms approved, But looking liked, and liking loved. The sight could jealous pangs beguile. And charm Malbecco^s cares awhile ; 80 And he, the wandering Squire of Dames, Forgot his Columbella's claims. And passion, erst unknown, could gain The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane ; Nor durst light Paridel advance, Bold as he was, a looser glance. She charm'd at once and tamed the heart. Incomparable Britomart ! So thou, fair City ! disarrayed Of battled wall, and rampart's aid, 90 As stately seem'st, but lovelier far Than in that panoply of war. Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne Strength and security are flown ; Still as of yore. 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 ; 100 124 MARMION For fosse and turret i^roucl 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 mural crown there fell The slightest knosp, or pinnacle. And if it come, — as come it may, Dun-Edin ! that eventful day, — Renown'd for hospitable deed. That virtue much with Heaven may plead, 110 In patriarchal times whose care Descending angels deign'd to share ; That claim may wrestle blessings down On those who fight for the Good Town, Destined in ever}^ age to be Refuge of injured royalty ; Since first, when conquering York arose. To Henry meek she gave repose. Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe. Great Bourbon's relics sad she saw. 120 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, 130 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 ? INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH 125 But who shall teach my harp to gain A sound of the romantic strain. Whose Anglo-Xorman tones whilere Could win the royal Henry^s ear, 140 Famed Beauclerk call'd, for that lie 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 scythe her hoary foe Was poising for the final blow, 150 The weapon from his hand could wring, And break his glass, and shear his wing. 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 wings of unexpected wit ; In letters as in life approved. Example honoured, and beloved, — 160 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, ! No more by thy example teach, — What few can practise, all can preach, — With even patience to endure 170 Lingering disease, and painful cure, And boast affliction's pangs subdued By mild and manly fortitude. 126 MAHMION Enough, tlie lesson has been given : Forbid tlie repetition, Heaven ! Come listen, then ! for thou hast known. And loved the MinstreFs varying tone, AVho, like his Border sires of old, AVaked a wild measure rude and bold, Till Windsor^s oaks, and Ascot plain, 180 With wonder heard the Northern strain. Come listen ! bold in thy applause. The bard shall scorn pedantic laws ; And, as the ancient art could stain Achievements on the storied pane. Irregularly traced and planned. But yet so glowing and so grand, — So shall he strive, in changeful hue. Field, feast, and combat, to renew. And loves, and arms, and harpers^ glee, 190 And all the pomp of chivalry. 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 ; Their men the warders backward drew, And carried pikes as they rode through. Into its ample bound. Fast ran the Scottish warriors there. Upon the Southern band to stare ; And envy with their wonder rose, 10 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 arrows flew like hail. II. Nor less did Marmion's skilful view Glance every line and squadron through ; 20 And much he marvell'd one small land Could marshal forth such various band : For men-at-arms Avere here. 128 MARMION [Canto V. Heavily slieiitlicd in iiuiil iiiul plali'. Like iron towers for strength and weiglit, On Flemish steeds of bone and height, With battle-axe and spear. Yonng knights and sqnires,, a lighter train, Praetised their chargers on the plain, By aid of leg, of hand, and rein, 30 Each warlike feat to show, 'Vo pass, to wheel, the cronpe to gain, And high curvett, that not in vain The sword sway might descend amain On foeman's casqne below. IFe saw the hardy bui-ghers there March arni'd, on foot, with faces bare. For vizor they wore none. Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight ; But burnish'd were their corslets bright, 40 Their brigan tines, aiul gorgets light. Like very silver shone. Long pikes they had for standing liglit, Two-handed swoi-ds they wore, And many wielded mace of weight. And bucklers bright they bore. III. On foot the yeoman too, but dress'd In his steel-jack, a swarthy vest. With iron quilted well ; Each at his back (a slender store) 50 ITis forty days' provision bore, As feudal statutes teU. His arms wei'c halbert, axe, or spear, A crossbow there, a hagbut here, A dagger-knife, and brand. Sober he seemM, and sad of cheer. As loath to leave his cottage dear. And march to foreign strand ; Canto V.] THE COURT 129 Or musing who would guide his steer To till the fallow laud. 00 Yet deem not in his thoughtful eye Did aught of dastard terror lie ; More dreadful far his ire Than theirs who, scoi'uing danger's name. In eager mood to battle came, Their valour like light straw on flame, A fierce but fading fire. IV. Not so the Borderer : — bred to war. He knew the battle's din afar, And joy'd to hear it swell. W His peaceful day was slothful ease ; Nor harp, nor pipe, his ear could please. Like the loud slogan yell. On active steed, with lance and blade. The light-arm'd pricker plied his trade, — Let nobles fight for fame ; Let vassals follow v/here they lead. Burghers, to guard their townships, bleed. But war 's the Borderer's game. Their gain, their glory, their delight, 80 To sleep the day, maraud the night. O'er mountain, moss, and moor ; Joyful to fight they took their way, Scarce caring who might win the day, Their booty was secure. These, as Lord Marmion's train pass'd by, Look'd on at first with careless eye, Nor marvell'd aught, well taught to know The form and force of English bow. But when they saw the Lord array'd 90 In splendid arms, and rich brocade, Each Borderer to his kinsman said, — 130 MABMION LCanto V. ^' Hist, Ringan ! seest thou there ! Canst guess which road they '11 homeward ride ? — ! 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 ; Brown Maudlin of that doublet pied 100 Could make a kirtle rare/'' !N"ext, Marmion marked the Celtic race. Of different language, form, and face, A various race of man ; Just then the chiefs their tribes array'd. And wild and garish semblance made The chequered trews, and belted plaid. And varying notes the war-pipes bray'd. To every varying clan ; Wild through their red or sable hair 110 Looked out their eyes with savage stare On Marmion as he pass'd ; Their legs above the knee were bare ; Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare, And hardened to the blast ; Of taller race, the chiefs they own Were by the eaglets plumage known. The hunted red-deer's undressed hide Their hairy buskins well supplied ; The graceful bonnet deck'd their head : 120 Back from their shoulders hung the plaid ; A broadsword of unwieldy length, A dagger proved for edge and strength, A studded targe they wore, And quivers, bows, and shafts, — but, ! Short was the shaft, and weak the bow, To that which England bore. caxto v.] the court 131 The Isles-men carried at their backs The ancient Danish battle-axe. They raised a wild and wondering cry, 130 As with his guide rode Marmion by. Loud were their clamouring tongues, as when The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen, And, with tlieir cries discordant mix'd. Grumbled and yell'd the pipes betwixt. VI. Thus through the Scottish camp they pass'd. And reach VI the city gate at last, AVhere all around, a wakeful guard, Arm^d burghers kept their watch and ward. Well had they cause of jealous fear, 140 When lay encamp'd, in field so near, The Borderer and the Mountaineer. As through the bustling streets they go. All was alive with martial show : At every turn, with dinning clang. The armourer's anvil clash'd and rang ; Or toil'd the swarthy smith to wheel The bar that arms the charger's heel ; Or axe, or falchion, to the side Of jarring grindstone w^as applied. 150 Page, groom, and squire, with hurrying pace, Through street, and lane, and market-place. Bore lance, or casque, or sword ; While burghers, with important face. Described each new-come lord, Discuss'd his lineage, told his name. His following, and his warlike fame. The Lion led to lodging meet. Which high o'erlook'd the crowded street ; There must the Baron rest 160 Till past the hour of vesper tide. And then to Holy-Rood must ride, — Such was the King's behest. 132 MARMION [Canto V. Meanwhile the Lion's care assigns A banquet rich, and costly wines. To Marmion and his train ; And when the appointed hour succeeds. The Baron dons his peaceful weeds. And following Lindesay as he leads. The palace-halls they gain. 170 VII. Old Holy-Rood rung merrily, That night, with wassel, mirth, and glee : King James within her princely bower Feasted the chiefs of Scotland's power, Summoned to spend the parting hour ; For he had charged that his array Should southward march by break of day. Well loved that splendid monarch aye The banquet and the song, By day the tourney, and by night 180 The merry dance, traced fast and light, The maskers quaint, the pageant bright. The revel loud and long. This feast outshone his banquets past ; It was his blithest, — and his last. The dazzling lamps, from gallery gay. Cast on the Court a dancing ray ; Here to the harp did minstrels sing ; There ladies touched a softer string ; With long-ear'd cap, and motley vest, 190 The licensed fool retail'd his jest ; His magic tricks the juggler plied ; At dice and draughts the gallants vied ; While some, in close recess apart. Courted the ladies of their heart. Nor courted them m vain ; For often, in the parting hour. Victorious Love asserts his power O'er coldness and disdain ; Canto V.] THE COURT 133 And flinty is her hearty can view 200 To battle march a lover true — Can hear, perchance, his last adieu, Xor own her share of pain. VIII. Through this mix'd crowd of glee and game. The King to greet Lord Marmion came. While, reverent, all made room. An easy task it was, I trow. King Jameses manly form to know. Although, his courtesy to show. He dolf'd to Marmion bending low 210 His broider'd cap and plume. For royal were his garb and mien : His cloak, of crimson velvet piled. Trimmed with the fur of marten wild ; His vest of changeful satin sheen, The dazzled eye beguiled ; His gorgeous collar hung adown. Wrought with the badge of Scotland's crown. The thistle brave, of old renown : His trusty blade, Toledo right, 220 Descended from a baldric bright ; White were his buskins, on the heel His spurs inlaid of gold and steel ; His bonnet, all of crimson fair. Was button'd with a ruby rare : And Marmion deem^l he ne'er had seen A prince of such a noble mien. IX. The Monarch's form was middle size. For feat of strength, or exercise. Shaped in proportion fair ; 230 And hazel was his eagle eye. And auburn of the darkest dye His short curl'd beard and hair. 134 MARMION [Canto V. Light was his footstep in the dance. And firm his stirrup in the lists ; And, oh ! he had tliat merry glance Tliat 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, 240 For monarchs seldom sigh in vain. I said he joy'd in banquet bower ; But, 'mid his mirth, 'twas often strange 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 pain, In memory of his father slain. Even so 'twas strange how evermore, 250 Soon as the passing pang was o'er. Forward he rush'd, with double glee. Into the stream of revelry : Thus dim-seen object of affright Startles the courser in his flight. And half he halts, half springs aside ; But feels the quickening spur applied. And, straining on the tighten'd rein, Scours doubly swift o'er hill and plain. X. O'er James's heart, the courtiers say, 260 Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway : To Scotland's Court she came To be a hostage for her lord. Who 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 ; Canto V.] THE COURT 135 For the fair Queen of France Sent him a turquoise ring and glove, 270 And charged him, as her knight and love, For her to break a lance ; And strike three strokes with Scottish })rand, And march three miles on Southron land. And bid the banners of his band In English breezes dance. And thus for France's Queen he drest His manly limbs in mailed vest ; And thus admitted English fair His inmost counsels still to share ; 280 And thus, for both, he madly 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 sits lone in Lithgow pile. And weeps, the Aveary day, 290 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 rounded arm, as o'er The strings her fingers flew : And as she touch'd and tuned them all, Ever her bosom's rise and fall Was plainer given to view ; 300 For, all for heat, was laid aside Her wimple, and her hood untied. 136 MARMION [Canto V. And first she pitched her voice to sing, Then glanced her dark eye on the King, And then around the silent ring ; And laugh'd, and blush'd, and oft did say Her pretty oath, by Yea and Nay, She could not, would not, durst not play ! At length, upon the harp, with glee. Mingled with arch simplicity, 310 A soft, yet lively air she rung. While thus the wily lady sung : — XII. LOCHINVAR. 0, young Lochinvar is come out of the west. Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; And save his good broadsword he weapons had none. He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone. He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; 320 But ere he alighted at Netherby gate The bride had consented, the gallant came late : For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all : Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) "■ come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar? '' — 330 Canto V.] THE COURT 137 ^^I long woo^d your daughter, my suit you denied ; — Love swells like the Sol way, 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 kiss'd the goblet : the knight took it up. He quaff 'd 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. 340 He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar, — " Now tread we a measure ! '' said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume. And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ; And the bride-maidens whisperM, " 'Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, AVhen they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near ; 350 So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung. So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! " She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ; They^ll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochin- var. There was mounting ^mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran : There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? 360 138 MARMION [Canto V. XIII. i The Monarch o'er the siren hung, i And beat the measure as she sung ; And, pressing closer, and more near, He whisperd praises in her ear. ' In loud applause the courtiers vied ; And ladies wink'd, and spoke aside. i The witching dame to Marmion threw " 1 A glance, where seem'd to reign \ The pride that claims applauses due, i And of her royal conquest too, 370 1 A real or feign'd disdain : | Familiar was the look, and told • Marmion and she were friends of old. The King observed their meeting eyes \ With something like displeased surprise ; 1 For monarchs ill can rivals brook, ^ Even in a word, or smile, or look. | Straight took he forth the parchment broad. Which Marmion's high commission show'd : , '' Our Borders sack'd by many a raid, 380 j Our peaceful liege-men robb'd,^" he said ; ^' On day of truce our Warden slain, , Stout Barton killM, his vessels ta'en — I Unworthy were we here to reign, j Should these for vengeance cry in vain ; Our full defiance, hate, and scorn. Our herald has to Henry borne." XIV. He paused, and led where Douglas stood And with stern eye the pageant view'd : I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore, 390 Who coronet of Angus bore, And, when his blood and heart were high, Did the third James in camp defy. And all his minions led to die Canto v.] THE COURT 139 On Lauder^s dreary flat : Princes and favourites long grew tame, And trembled at the homely name Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat ; The same who left the dusky vale Of Hermitage in Liddisdale, 400 Its dungeons, and its towers. Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air. And Both well bank is blooming fair. To fix his princely bowers. Though now, in age, he had laid down His armour for the peaceful gown. And for a staff his brand. Yet often would flash forth the fire That could, in youth, a monarch's ire And minion's pride withstand ; 410 And even that day, at council board, Unapt to soothe his Sovereign's mood. Against the war had Angus stood. And chafed his royal Lord. XV. His giant-form, like ruin'd tower. Though fairn its muscles' brawny vaunt, Huge-bonecf, and tall, and grim, and gaunt, Seem'd o'er the gaudy scene to lower : His locks and beard in silver grew. His eyebrows kept their sable hue. 420 Near Douglas when the Monarch stood. His bitter speech he thus pursued : — ''Lord Marmion, since these letters say That in the North you needs must stay While slightest hopes of peace remain, Uncourteous speech it were, and stern. To say — Eeturn to Lindisfarne, Until my herald come again. — 140 MARMION [Canto V. Then rest yon in Tantallon Hold ; Your host shall be the Douglas bold, — 430 A chief unlike his sires of old. He wears their motto on his blade. Their blazon o^er his towers displayM ; 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 was given A prize, the first fruits of the war, Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar, A bevy of the maids of Heaven. 440 Under your guard these holy maids Shall safe return to cloister shades. And, while they at Tantallon stay, Eequiem for Cochran's soul may say/' And, with the slaughter'd favourite's name. Across the Monarch's brow there came A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame. XVI. In answer nought could Angus speak ; His proud heart swell'd wellnigh to break : He turn'd aside, and down his cheek 450 A burning tear there stole. His hand the Monarch sudden took, That sight his kind heart could not brook : ^' Now, by the Bruce's soul, Angus, my hasty speech forgive ! For sure as doth his spirit live. As he said of the Douglas old, I well may say of you, — That never king did subject hold. In speech more free, in war more bold, 460 More tender and more true : Forgive me, Douglas, once again." — And, while the King his hand did strain. The old man's tears fell down like rain. Canto v.] THE COURT 141 To seize the moment Marmion tried. And whispered to the King aside : ^*0h ! 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, 470 A stripling for a woman^s heart : But woe awaits a country when She sees the tears of bearded men. Then, oh ! what omen, dark and high. When Douglas wets his manly eye ! " XVII. Displeased was James, that stranger viewM 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 ; 480 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 honour 'd were my humble home. If in its halls King James should come ; But Nottingham has archers good, And Yorkshire men are stern of mood, 490 Northumbrian prickers wild and rude. On Derby 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 turnM away. 142 MARMION [Canto V. And to his nobles loud did call, — 500 '' Lords, to the dance, — a hall ! a hall ! " Himself his cloak and sword flung by. And led Dame Heron gallantly ; And minstrels, at the royal order, Rung out — " Blue Bonnets o'er the Border/' xvni. Leave we these revels now, to tell What to Saint Hilda's maids befell. Whose galley, as they sail'd again To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en. Now at Dun-Edin did they bide, 510 Till James should of their fate decide ; And soon, by his command. Were gently summon'd to prepare To journey under Marmion's care. As escort honour'd, safe, and fair. Again to English land. The Abbess told her chaplet o'er, Nor knew which Saint she should implore ; For, when she thought of Constance, sore She fear'd Lord Marmion's mood. 520 And judge what Clara must have felt ! The sword that hung in Marmion's belt Had drunk He 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 listen to the tale Of woman, prisoner, and nun, 530 Mid bustle of a war begun ? They deem'd it hopeless to avoid The convoy of their dangerous guide. Canto v.] THE COURT 143 XIX. Their lodging, so the King assign^, To Marmion^s, as their guardian, joined ; And thus it fell that, passing nigh. The Palmer caught the Abbess' eye. Who warned him by a scroll She had a secret to reveal. That much concern'd the Church's weal, 540 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. 650 The moon among the clouds rose high. And all the city hum was by. Upon the street, where late before Did din of war and warriors roar, You might have heard a pebble fall, A beetle hum, a cricket sing. An owlet flap his boding wing On Giles's steeple tall. The antique buildings, climbing high. Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sky, 560 Were here wrapt deep in shade ; There on their brows the moonbeam broke. Through the faint wreaths of silvery smoke. And on the casements play'd. And other light was none to see. Save torches gliding far. 144 MARMION [Canto V. , Before some chieftain of degree, 1 Who left the royal revelry 1 To bowne him for the war. — j A solemn scene the Abbess chose; 570 j A solemn hour, her secret to disclose. \ XXI. '^ 0, holy Palmer ! " she began, — '* For sure he must be sainted man. Whose blessed feet have trod the ground Where 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 Avho wed above ! — De Wilton and Lord Marmion woo'd 680 Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood ; (Idle it were of Whitby's dame. To say of that same blood I came ;) And once, when jealous rage was high. Lord Marmion said despiteously, Wilton was traitor in his heart. And had made league with Martin Swart, When he came here on Simnel's part. And only cowardice did restrain His rebel aid on Stokefield's plain, — 590 And down he threw his glove : — the thing Was tried, as wont, before the King ; Where frankly did De AVilton own That Swart in Guelders he had known ; And that between them then there went Some scroll of courteous compliment. For this he to his castle sent ; But when his messenger returned. Judge how De Wilton's fury burn'd ! Canto v.] THE COURT 145 For in his packet there were laid 600 Letters that claimed disloyal aid. And proved King Henry's cause betray'd. His fame, thus blighted, in the field He strove to clear by spear and shield ; — To clear his fame in vain he strove. For wondrous 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 ? 610 XXII. '^ His squire, who now De Wilton saw As recreant doom'd to suffer law, Kepentant, own'd in vain. That, while he had the scrolls in care, A stranger maiden, passing fair. Had drencli'd him with a beverage rare ; His words no faith could gain. With Clare alone lie credence won, AVho, rather than wed Marmion, Did to Saint Hilda's shrine repair, 620 To give our house her livings fair. And die 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 AVliitby's shade, No, not since Saxon Eflelfled ; Only one trace of earthly strain, That for her lover's loss She cherishes a sorrow vain, G30 And murmurs at the cross. — And then her heritage ; — it goes Along the banks of Tame ; 146 M ARM ION [Canto V. Deep 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. Should do a deadly sin, 640 Her temple spoiFd before mine eyes If this false Marmion such a prize By my consent should win ; Yet hath our boisterous Monarch sworn That Clare shall from our house be torn ; And grievous cause have I to fear Such mandate doth Lord Marmion bear. XXIII. ^' Now, prisoner, helpless, and betrayed To evil power, I claim thine aid. By every step that thou hast trod 65Q To holy shrine and grotto dim, By every martyr^s tortured limb, By angel, saint, and seraphim, And by the Church of God ! For mark : — When Wilton was betrayed. And with his squire forged letters laid. She was, alas ! that sinful maid By whom the deed was done, — Oh ! shame and horror to be said ! She was a perjured nun ! 660 No clerk in all the land like her Traced quaint and varying character. Perchance you may a marvel deem. That Marmion's paramour (For such vile thing she was) should scheme Her lover's nuptial hour ; Canto V.J THE COURT U7 But o'er him tliiis she hoped to gain, As privy to his honour's stain, Illimitable power : For this she secretly retain'd 670 Each proof that might the plot reveal. Instructions with his hand and seal ; And thus Saint Hilda deign'd. Through sinner's perfidy impure. Her house's glory to secure. And Clare's immortal weal. XXIV. *' 'Twere long, and needless, here to tell How to my hand these papers fell ; With me they must not stay. Saint Hilda keep her Abbess true ! 680 Who knows what outrage he might do. While journeying by the way ? — blessed Saint, if e'er again 1 venturous leave thy calm domain. To travel or by land or main, Deep penance may I pay ! — Now, saintly Palmer, mark my prayer : I give this packet to thy care, For thee to stop they will not dare ; And ! with cautious speed, 690 To Wolsey's hand the papers bring. That he may show them to the King : And, for thy well-earn "d meed, Thou holy man, at Whitby's shrine A weekly mass shall still be thine. While priests can sing and read. — What ail'st thou ?— Speak ! ''—For as he took Tlie charge, a strong emotion shook His frame ; and, ere reply. 148 MARMION [Canto V. They heard a faint yet shrilly tone, 700 Like distant clarion feebly blown, That on the breeze did die ; And loud the Abbess shriek'd in fear, '' Saint Withold, save us I — AVhat is here ! Look at yon City Cross ! See on its battled tower appear Phantoms that scutcheons seem to rear And blazon'd banners toss ! " — XXV. Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillar'd stone, Rose on a turret octagon ; 710 (But now is razed that monument. Whence royal edict rang. And voice of Scotland's law was sent In glorious trumpet-clang. ! 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 Naturals law. Strange, wild, and dimly seen ; 720 Figures that seem'd 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, 730 When flings the moon upon her shroud A wavering tinge of flame ; Canto V.J THE COURT 149 It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud. From midmost of the spectre crowd. This awful summons came : — XXVI. ^' Prince, prelate, 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 740 I summon one and all : I cite you by each deadly sin That e'er hath soil'd your hearts within ; I cite you by each brutal lust That e'er defiled your earthly dust, — By wrath, by pride, by fear. By each o'er-mastering passion's tone. By the dark grave, and dying groan ! When forty days are pass'd and gone, I cite you at your Monarch's throne 750 To answer and appear." — Then thundered forth a roll of names : — The first was thine, unhappy James ! Then all thy nobles came ; Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose, Argyle, Eoss, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyle, — Why should I tell their separate style ? Each chief of birth and fame. Of Lowland, Highland, Border, Isle, Fore-doom'd to Flodden's carnage pile, 760 AVas cited there by name ; And Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye, Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye ; De Wilton, erst of Aberley, The self -same thundering voice did say. — But then another spoke : 150 MARMION [Canto V. ''Thy fatal summons I deny. And thine infernal Lord defy. Appealing me to Him on high Who burst the sinner^s yoke." 770 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 ; 780 Dun-Edin^s streets are empty now. Save when, for weal of those they love. To pray the prayer, and vow the vow. The tottering child, the anxious fair. The grey-hair'd sire, with pious care. To chapels and to shrines repair. — Where is the Palmer now ? and where The Abbess, Marmion, and Clare ? — Bold Douglas I to Tantallon fair They journey in thy charge : 790 Lord Marmion rode on his right hand. The Palmer still was with the band ; Angus, like Lindesay, did command That none should roam at large. But in that Palmer's altered mien A wondrous 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 800 Some desperate deed afar. Canto v.] THE COURT 151 His courser would he feed and stroke. And, tucking up his sable frocke. 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. XXVIII. Some half-hour^s march behind there came. By Eustace governed fair, 810 A troop escorting Hilda^s dame. With all her nuns, and Clare. No audience had Lord Marmion sought ; Ever he fear'd to aggravate Clara de Clare's suspicious hate ; And safer Hwas, he thought. To wait till, from the nuns removed. The influence of kinsmen loved. And suit by Henry's self approved. Her slow consent had wrought. 820 His was no flickering flame, that dies Unless when fanned by looks and sighs. And lighted oft at lady's eyes ; He long'd to stretch his wide command O'er luckless Clara's ample land : 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 loath'd to think upon, 830 Led him, at times, to hate the cause Which made him burst through honour's laws. If e'er he loved, 'twas her alone Who died within that vault of stone. 152 MARMION [Canto V. \ I XXIX. ! And now, when close at hand they saw .( North Berwick^s town, and lofty Law, Fitz-Eustace bade them pause a while \ Before a venerable pile, ] Whose turrets viewM afar j The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle, 840 i 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 honour^ guest, i Till Douglas should a bark prepare To waft her back to Whitby fair. J Glad was the Abbess, yoa may guess, ! And thanked the Scottish Prioress ; , j And tedious were to tell, I ween, 850 j The courteous speech that pass'd between. - Overjoyed the nuns their palfreys leave ; i But when fair Clara did intend, i Like them, from horseback to descend, ! Fitz-Eustace said, — " I grieve, ; Fair lady, grieve e'en from my heart, i Such gentle company to part ; — 1 Think not discourtesy, ! But lords' commands must be obey'd ; ; And Marmion and the Douglas said 860 That you must wend with me. : Lord Marmion hath a letter broad, i Which to the Scottish Earl he show'd, - Commanding that beneath his care Without delay you shall repair To your good kinsman. Lord Fitz-Clare.'' J XXX. The startled Abbess loud exclaim'd ; Bat she at whom the blow was aim'd CaxtoY.J the court 153 Grew pale as death, and cold as lead, — She deemM she heard her death-doom read. 870 " 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 while we stay ; And, when we move, an easy ride AVill bring us to the English side. Female attendance to provide 880 Befitting Gloster's heir ; Nor thinks, nor dreams, my noble Lord, By slightest look, or act, or word. To harass Lady Clare. Her faithful guardian he will be, ISTor sue for slightest courtesy That e'en to stranger falls. Till he shall place her, safe and free. Within her kinsman's halls." He spoke, and blush'd with earnest grace ; 890 His faith was painted on his face. And Clare's worst fear relieved. The Lady Abbess loud exclaim'd On Henry, and the Douglas blamed. Entreated, threaten'd, grieved ; To martyr, saint, and prophet pray'd. Against Lord Marmion inveigh'd. And call'd the Prioress to aid, To curse with candle, bell, and book. Her head the grave Cistertian shook : 900 ^' The Douglas, and the King," she said, ^' In their commands will be obey'd ; Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall The maiden in Tantallon Hall." 154 MARMION [Canto V. XXXI. The Abbess, seeing strife was vain, 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, 910 The records of his house turn o'er, And, when he there shall written see That one of his own ancestry Drove the monks forth of Coventry, Bid him his fate explore ! Prancing in pride of earthly trust. His charger hurl'd him to the dust, And, by a base plebeian thrust. He died his band before. God judge 'twixt Marmion and me ; 920 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 band ; 930 Saint Anton^ fire thee ! wilt thou stand All day, with bonnet in thy hand. To hear the lady preach ? By this good light ! if thus we stay. Lord Marmion, for our fond delay, Will sharper sermon teach. Come, don thy cap, and mount thy horse ; The dame must patience take perforce." — ■ Canto V.J THE COURT 155 XXXII. " Snbmit we then to force/' said Clare, '' But let this barbarous lord despair 940 His purposed aim to win ; Let him take living, land, and life, But to be Marmion's wedded wife In me were deadly sin : And if it be the King's decree That I must find no sanctuary In that inviolable dome Where even a homicide might come, And safely rest his head. Though at its open portals stood, 950 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 little power. One victim is before me there. — Mother, your blessing, and in prayer Remember your unhappy Clare ! "' Loud weeps the Abbess, and bestows 960 Kind blessings many a one : Weeping and wailing loud arose. Round patient Clare, the clamorous woes Of every simple nun. His eyes the gentle Eustace dried. And scarce rude Blount 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. 970 156 MARMION [CaktoV. XXXIII. But scant three miles the band had rode. When o'er a height they pass'd, And, sudden, close before them showed His towers Tantallon vast ; Broad, massive, high, and stretching far. And held impregnable in war. On a projecting rock they rose, And round three sides the ocean flows. The fourth did battled walls enclose. And double mound and fosse. 980 By narrow drawbridge, outworks strong. Through studded gates, an entrance long. To the main court they cross. It was a wide and stately square : Around were lodgings, fit and fair. And towers of various form. Which on the court projected far. And broke its lines quadrangular. Here was square keep, there turret high. Or ]iinnacle that sought the sky, 990 Whence oft the warder could descry The gathering ocean-storm. XXXIV. Here did they rest. — The princely care \ Of Douglas why should I declare^ Or say they met reception fair ? Or why the tidings say. Which varying to Tantallon came. By hurrying posts, or fleeter fame. With every varying day ? And, first, they heard King James had won 1000 ^ Etall, and Wark, and Ford ; and then, \ That Norham Castle strong was ta'en. J Canto V.J THE COURT 157 At that sore marveird Marmion ; — And Douglas hoped his Monarches hand Would soon subdue Northumberland : But whispered news there came. That, while his host inactive lay. And melted by degrees away, King James was dallying off the day With Heron^s wily dame. — 1010 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 high ridge had made their post Which frowns o'er Millfield Plain ; And that brave Surrey many a band Had gathered in the Southern land. And marched into I^orthumberland, 1020 And camp at Wooler ta^en. Marmion, like charger in the stall. That hears, without, the trumpet-call. Began to chafe, and swear : — " A sorry thing to hide my head In castle, like a fearful maid. When such a field is near ! Needs must I see this battle-day : Death to my fame if such a fray Were fought, and Marmion away ! 1030 The Douglas, too, I wot not why. Hath 'bated of his courtesy : No longer in his halls Til stay.'" Then bade his band they should array For march against the dawning day. INTEODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH. TO RICHARD HEBER, ESQ. Mertoun- House ^ Christmas. Heap on more wood ! — the wind is chill ; But let it whistle as it will. We'll keep our Christmas merry still. Each age has deem'd the new-born year The fittest time for festal 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, 10 Where shields and axes deck'd the Avail, They gorged upon the half-dress'd steer ; Caroused in seas of sable beer ; While round, in brutal jest, were thrown The half-gnaw'd rib, and marrow-bone. Or listened all, in grim delight, While scalds yelFd out the joys of fight. Then forth in frenzy would they hie. While wildly loose their red locks fly, And dancing round the blazing pile, 20 They make such barbarous mirth the while. As best might to the mind recall The boisterous joys of Odin's hall. And well our Christian sires of old Loved when the year its course had rolFd, INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH 159 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 ; 30 On Christmas eve the mass was sung : That only night in all the year Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. The damsel donn'd her kirtle sheen ; The hall was dress'd with holly green ; Forth to the wood did merry-men go, To gather in the mistletoe. Then open'd wide the baron^s hall To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; Power laid his rod of rule aside, 40 And Ceremony doff'd his pride. The heir, with roses in his shoes, That night might village partner choose ; The Lord, underogating, share The vulgar game of ^' post and pair.'^ All hail'd, with uncontroll'd 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, 50 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 board No mark to part the squire and lord. Then was brought in the lusty brawn, By old blue-coated serving-man ; Then the grim boar's head frown'd on high. Crested with bays and rosemary. Well can the green-garb'd ranger tell 60 How, when, and where, the moiister fell ; 160 MARMION AVhat dogs before his death he tore. And all the baiting of the boar. The wassel round, in good brown bowls Garnish'd with ribbons, blithely trowls. There the huge sirloin reekM ; hard by Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie ; Nor faird old Scotland to produce, At such high tide, her savoury goose. Then came the merry maskers in, 70 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, ! what maskers, richly dight, Can boast of bosoms half so light ! England was merry England, when 80 Old Christmas brought his sjoorts again. ^Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale ; 'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ; A Christmas gambol oft could 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-fetched claim 90 To Southron ear sounds empty name ; For course of blood, our proverbs deem. Is warmer than the mountain-stream. And thus my Christmas still I hold Where my great-grandsire came of old. With amber beard, and flaxen hair. And reverend apostolic air. The feast and holy-tide to share. INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH 161 And mix sobriety with wine, And honest mirth with thoughts divine : 100 Small thought was his, in after time E^er to be hitched into a rhyme. The simple sire could only boast That he was loyal to his cost ; The banish 'd 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 110 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 loth to leave the sweet domain. And holds his mirror to her face. And clips her with a close embrace : — 120 Gladly as he we seek the dome. And as reluctant turn ns home. How Just that, at this time of glee, My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee ! For many a merry 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 brain can hold no more. 130 These ancients, as Noll Bluff might say, '' Were pretty fellows in their day ; " But time and tide o'er all prevail — On Christmas eve a Christmas tale — 162 M ARM I ON Of wonder and of war — " Profane ! 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 conjurer and ghost, 140 Goblin and witch \" — Nay, Heber 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' 'wraitli; ^neas, upon Thracia's shore. The ghost of murder'd Polydore ; For omens, we in Livy cross. At every turn, locutus Bos. 150 As grave and duly speaks that ox. As if he told the price of stocks ; 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 160 The battle turned on Maida's shore. Will, on a Friday morn, look pale. If ask'd to tell a fairy tale : He fears the vengeful Elfin King, Who leaves that day his grassy ring : Invisible to human ken, He walks among the sons of men. Did'st e'er, dear Heber, pass along Beneath the towers of Franchemont, INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH 163 AVliich, like an eagle's nest in air, 170 Hang o'er the stream and hamlet fair ? Deep in their vaults, the peasants say, A mighty treasure buried lay, Amassed through rapine and through wrong By the last Lord of Franchemont. The iron chest is bolted hard, A huntsman sits its constant guard ; Around his neck his horn is hung. His hanger in his belt is slung ; Before his feet his blood-hounds lie : 180 An 'twere not for his gloomy eye. Whose withering glance no heart can brook. As true a huntsman doth he look As bugle e'er in brake did sound. Or ever hoUow'd to a hound. To chase the fiend, and Avin the prize. In that same dungeon ever tries An aged Necromantic Priest ; It is an hundred years at least Since 'twixt them first the strife begun, 190 And neither yet has lost or won. And oft the Conjurer's words will make The stubborn Demon groan and quake ; And oft the bands of iron break. Or bursts one lock, that still amain, Fast as 'tis open'd, shuts again. That magic strife within the tomb May last until the day of doom, Unless the Adept shall learn to tell The very word that clench'd the spell, 200 When Franch'mont lock'd the treasure cell. An hundred years are pass'd and gone, And scarce three letters has he won. Such general superstition may Excuse for old Pitscottie say. lG4r MAIiMlON Whose gossip history has given My song the messenger from Heaven, Tliat wiirnM, in Lithgow, Scothmd's King, Nor less the inferniil summoning ; May pass tlie Monk of Durham's tale, 210 Whose Demon fought in Gothic mail ; May pardon plead for Fordun grave, AVho told of Gilford's Goblin-cave. But why such instances to you, Who, in an instant, can renew Your treasured hoards of various lore. And furnish twenty thousand more ? Hoards, not like theirs whose volumes rest Like treasures in the Franch'mont chest. While gripple owners still refuse 220 To others what they cannot use ; Give them the Priest's whole century. They shall not spell you letters three ; Their pleasure in the books the same The magpie takes in pilfered gem. Thy volumes, open as thy heart, Delight, amusement, science, art. To every ear and eye impart ; Yet who, of all who thus employ them. Can like the owner's self enjoy them ? — 230 But hark ! T hear the distant drum ! The day of Flodden Field is come. — Adieu, dear Ileber ! life and health. And store of literary wealth. CANTO SIXTH. THE BATTLE. I. While great events were on the gale, And each hour brought a varying tale, And the demeanour, changed and cold. Of Douglas fretted Marmion bold. And, like the impatient steed of war, He snuff'd the battle from afar ; And hopes were none that back again Herald should come from Terouenne, AVhere England's King in leaguer lay, Before decisive battle-day, — 10 Wliile these things were, the mournful Clare Did in the dame's devotions share : For the good Countess ceaseless pray'd 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, 20 Dejected Clara well could bear The formal state, the lengthened prayer. Though dearest to her wounded lieart The hours that she might spend apart. II. I said Tantallon's dizzy steep Hung o'er the margin of the deep. 166 MARMION [Canto VI. Many a rude tower and rampart there Repeird the insult of the air, Which, when the tempest vex'd the sky. Half breeze, half spray, came whistling by. 30 Above the rest, a turret square Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear. Of sculpture rude, a stony shield ; The Bloody Heart was in the field, And in the chief three mullets stood. The cognizance of Douglas blood. The turret held a narrow stair, Which, mounted, gave you access where A parapet's embattled row Did seaward round the castle go. 40 Sometimes in dizzy steps descending. Sometimes in narrow circuit bending. Sometimes in platform broad extending, Its varying circle did combine Bulwark, and bartizan, 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. 50 Where'er Tantallon faced the land Gate-works, and walls, were strongly manned ; 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 solitude. III. And, for they were so lonely, Clare Would to these battlements repair. And muse upon her sorrows there, 60 And list the sea-bird's cry ; Canto VI.] THE BATTLE 167 Or slow, like noontide ghost, would glide Along the dark -grey bulwarks" side. And ever on the heaving tide Look down with weary eye. Oft did the cliff, and swelling main. Recall the thoughts of Whitby's fane, — A home she ne'er might see again ; For she had laid adown. So Douglas bade, the hood and veil, 70 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 adorn'd her brow of snow ; Her mantle rich, whose borders round A deep and fretted broidery bound. In golden foldings sought the ground ; Of holy ornament, alone 80 Remained a cross with ruby stone ; And often did she look On that which in her hand she bore, With velvet bound, and broider'd o'er. Her breviary book. In such a place, so lone, so grim. At dawning pale, or twilight dim. It fearful would have been To meet a form so richly dress'd. With book in hand, and cross on breast, 90 And such a woeful mien. Fitz-Eustace, loitering with his bow. To practise 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-bound queen ; For ne'er in work-day world was seen A form so witching fair. 168 MARMION [Canto VI. IV. Once walking thus at evening tide, 100 It chanced a gliding sail she spied, And, sighing, thought — '' The Abbess there. Perchance, does to her home repair ; Her peaceful rule, where 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 very form of Hilda fair, 110 Hovering upon the sunny air. And smiling on her votaries' prayer. ! wherefore, to my duller eye. Did still the Saint her form deny ? Was it that, sear'd 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, 120 And well could brook the mild command That ruled thy simple maiden band. How different now ! condemned to bide My doom from this dark tyrant's pride. — But Marmion 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 weak He ne'er shall bend, although he break. 130 V. '^But see ! — what makes this armour here ?" — For in her path there lay Targe, corslet, helm ; — slie view'd them near. — Canto VI.J THE BATTLE 169 ^' The breast-plate pierced I — Ay, much I fear, Weak fence wert thou Against foeman's spear. That hath made fatal entrance here. As these dark blood-gouts say. — Thus Wilton I — Oh I not corslet's ward, Not truth, as diamond pure and hard. Could be thy manly bosom's guard 140 On yon disastrous day ! '' — She raised her eyes in mournful mood, — Wilton himself before her stood ! It might have seem'd his passing ghost. For every 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 choose 150 To paint the rainbow's varying hues. Unless to mortal it were given To dip his brush in dyes 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 display'd : 160 Each o'er its rival's ground extending. Alternate conquering, shifting, blending. Till all, fatigued, the conflict yield. And mighty Love retains the field. Shortly I tell what then he said. By many a tender w^ord delay'd, And modest blush, and bursting sigh. And question kind, and fond reply : — 170 MAUMION [Canto VI. VI. ft Wlton's fistorg. ^' Forget we that disastrous day When senseless in the lists I lay. 170 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. Austin, — remember'st thou, my Clare, How thou didst blush when the old man. When first our infant love began, Said we would make a matchless pair ? — Menials, and friends, and kinsmen fled From the degraded traitor's bed, — 180 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 the ground. If e'er I heard the name of Clare. At length, to calmer reason brought, Much by his kind attendance wrought, 190 With him I left my native strand. And, in a palmer's weeds array 'd. My hated name and form to shade, I journey'd many a land ; No more a lord of rank and birth, But mingled with the dregs of earth. Oft Austin for my reason fear'd. When I would sit, and deeply brood On dark revenge, and deeds of blood. Or wild mad schemes uprear'd. 200 My friend at length fell sick, and said God would remove him soon : Canto VI.] THE BATTLE 171 And, while upon his dying bed. He begged of me a boon — If e'er my deadliest enemy Beneath my brand should conquered lie. Even then my mercy should awake. And spare his life for Austin's sake. VII. ^* Still restless as a second Cain, To Scotland next my route was ta'en, 210 Full well the paths I knew. Fame of my fate made various sound. That death in pilgrimage I found, That I had perish'd of my wound, — None cared wiiich tale was true : And living eye could never guess De Wilton in his palmer's dress ; For now that sable slough is shed, And trimm'd my shaggy beard and head, I scarcely know me in the glass. 220 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 w^rongs. 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 ; 230 But in my bosom muster'd Hell Its plans of dark revenge. VIII. ^' A word of vulgar augury That broke from me, I scarce knew why. Brought on a village tale. 172 MARMION [Canto VI. Which wrought upon his moody sprite, And sent him armed forth by night. I borrowed steed, and mail. And weapons from his sleeping band ; And, passing from a postern door, 240 We met, and ^counter^d, hand to hand, — He fell on Gifford-moor. For the death-stroke my brand I drew, (0 then my helmed head he knew, The palmer's cowl was gone,) Then had three inches of my blade The heavy debt of vengeance paid, — My hand the thought of Austin staid ; I left him there alone. — good old man ! even from the grave, 250 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, 260 Or featly was some juggle play'd, A tale of peace to teach. Appeal to Heaven I judged was best. When my name came among the rest. IX. '' Now here within Tantallon Hold, To Douglas late my tale I told. To whom my house was known of old. Won by my proofs, his falchion bright This eve anew shall dub me knight. These were the arms that once did turn 270 The tide of fight on Otterburne, Canto VI.] THE BATTLE 173 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 grey-hair'd men ; The rest were all in Twisel glen. 280 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. " 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. 290 Now meeter far for martial broil, Firmer my limbs, and strung by toil. Once more " — " Wilton ! must we then Eisk new-found happiness again. Trust fate of arms once more ? And is there not an 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 ? 300 That reddening brow ! — too well I know Not even thy Clare can peace bestow While falsehood stains thy name : Go then to fight ! Clare bids thee go ! Clare can a warrior's feelings know. And weep a warrior's shame ; 174 MAUMION [Canto VI. Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel, •Buckle the spurs upon thy heel. And belt thee with thy brand of steel, And send thee forth to fame ! " 310 XL That night upon the rocks and bay The midnight moonbeam slumbering lay. And pour'd its silver light and pure Through loophole, and through embrasure. 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 seam'd with scars. Two veterans of the Douglas' wars, 320 Though two grey 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 moonshine bright, A Bishop by the altar stood, A noble lord of Douglas blood. With mitre sheen, and rocquet white. Yet show'd his meek and thoughtful eye 330 But little pride of prelacy ; More pleased that, in a barbarous age. He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page. Than that beneath his rule he held The bishopric of fair Dunkeld. Beside him ancient Angus stood, Doff'd his furr'd gown, and sable hood : O'er his huge form and visage pale He wore a cap and shirt of mail ; And lean'd his large and wrinkled hand 340 Upon the huge and sweeping brand Canto VI.] THE BATTLE 175 Which wont of yore, in battle fray, His foeman's limbs to shred away. As wood-knife lops the sapling spray. He seem'd 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. 350 XII. Then at the altar 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 lover'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, 360 I dub thee knight. Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir ! For king, for church, for lady fair. See that thou fight.''— And Bishop Gawain, as he rose. Said — " Wilton ! grieve not for thy woes. Disgrace, and trouble ; For He who honour best bestows May give thee double." — De Wilton sobb'd, for sob he must — 370 " Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust That Douglas is my brother ! " " Nay, nay," old Angus said, '' not so ; 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. 176 MARMION [Caa-to VI. Upon them bravely — do tliy worst ; And foul fall him that blenches first ! '' XIII. Not far advanced was morning day, 380 When Marmion did his troop array To Surrey^s camp to ride ; lie had safe-condnct 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 whisper'd in an undertone, ^' Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown." — The train from out the castle drew, 390 But Marmion stopped to bid adieu : — " Though something I miglit plain," he said, *' Of cold respect to stranger guest. Sent hither by your King's behest. While in Tantallon's towers I staid. Part we in friendship from your land. And, noble Earl, receive my hand." — But Douglas round him drew his cloak. Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : — '' My manors, halls, and bowers shall still 400 Be open at my Sovereign's will To each one whom he lists, howe'er Unmeet to be the owner'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 friendly grasp The hand of such as Marmion clasp." — XIV. Burn'd Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, And shook his very frame for ire, 410 Canto VI.] TtlE BATTLE 177 And— ^^ This to me ! " he said, '^ And 'twere not for thy hoary beard. Such hand as Marmion's had not spared To cleave the Douglas' head ! And first I tell thee, haughty Peer, He who does England's message here. Although the meanest in her state. May well, proud Angus, be thy mate ; And, Douglas, more I tell thee here. Even in thy pitch of pride, 420 Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, (Nay, never look upon your lord. And lay your hands upon your sword,) I tell thee, thou'rt defied ! And if thou said'st I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here. Lowland or Highland, far or near. Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! " — On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage O'ercame the ashen hue of age : 430 Fierce he broke forth, — "^ And darest thou then To beard the lion in his den. The Douglas in his hall ? And hopest thou hence unscathed to go ? — No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no ! Up drawbridge, grooms — what, warder, ho ! Let the portcullis fall." — Lord Marmion turn'd, — well was his need, — And dash'd the rowels in his steed. Like arrow through the archway sprung, 440 The ponderous grate behind him rung ; To pass there was such scanty room, The bars, descending, razed his plume. XV. The steed along the drawbridge flies, Just as it trembled on the rise ; 178 MABMION [Canto VI. Not lighter does the swallow skim Along the smooth lake's level brim : And when Lord Marmion reach'd his band. He halts, and turns with clenched hand, And shout of loud defiance pours, 450 And shook his gauntlet at the towers. " Horse ! horse ! " the Douglas cried, ''and chase ! '' But soon he rein'd his fury's pace : " A royal messenger he came, Though most unAvorthy of the name. — A letter forged ! Saint Jude to speed ! Did ever knight so foul a deed ? At first in heart it liked me ill. When the King praised his clerkly skill. Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine, 460 Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line : So swore I, and I swear it still. Let my boy-bishop fret his fill. — Saint Mary mend my fiery mood ! Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, I thought to slay him where he stood. 'Tis pity of him too," he cried : '' Bold can he speak, and fairly ride, I warrant him a warrior tried." With this his mandate he recalls, 470 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 cross'd the heights of Stanrig-moor. His troop more closely there he scann'd. And miss'd the Palmer from the band. — " Palmer or not," young Blount did say, '^ He parted at the peep of day ; Good sooth, it was in strange array." — " In what array ? " said Marmion, quick. 480 " My lord, I ill can spell the trick ; Canto VI.] TBE BATTLE 179 But all night long, with clink and bang, Close to my couch did hammers clang ; At dawn the falling drawbridge rang, And from a loophole while I peep. Old Bell-the-Cat came from the keep, Wrapped in a gown of sables fair. As fearful of the morning air ; Beneath, when that was blown aside, A rusty shirt of mail I spied, 490 By Archibald won in bloody work Against the Saracen and Turk : Last night it hung not in the hall ; I thought some marvel would befall. And next I saw them saddled lead Old Cheviot forth, the Earl's best steed ; A matchless horse, though something old. Prompt to his paces, cool and bold. I heard the Sheriff Sholto say. The Earl did much the Master pray 500 To use him on the battle-day ; But he preferred " " Nay, Henry, cease ! Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy peace. — Eustace, thou bear'st a brain — I pray, What did Blount see at break of day ? " XVII. " In brief, my lord, we both descried (For then I 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, 510 And much resembled that same knight Subdued by you in Cotswold fight : Lord Angus wish'd him speed." — The instant that Fitz-Eustace spoke, A sudden light on Marmion broke ; — " Ah ! dastard fool, to reason lost ! " He mutter'd ; " 'Twas nor fay nor ghost ISO MARMION [Canto VI. I met upon the moonlight woh]. But living man of earthly mould. — dotage blind and gross ! 520 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 ; ^Twas therefore gloomed his rugged brow. — Will Surrey dare to entertain, 'Gainst Marmion, charge disproved and vain ? Small risk of that, I trow. Yet Clare's sharp questions must I shun ; 530 Must separate Constance from the nun — 0, what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive ! A Palmer too I — no wonder why I felt rebuked beneath his eye : I might have known there was but one Whose look could quell Lord Marmion.'' XVIII. Stung with these thoughts, he urged to speed His troop, and reached at eve the Tweed, Where LenneFs convent closed their march ; 540 (There now is left but one frail arch. Yet mourn thou not its cells ; Our time a fair exchange has made ; Hard by, in hospitable shade, A reverend pilgrim dwells. Well worth the whole Bernardine brood. That e'er wore sandal, frock, or hood.) Yet did Saint Bernard's Abbot there Give Marmion entertainment fair. And lodging for his train and Clare. 550 Next morn the Baron climb'd the tower. To view afar the Scottish power, Encamp'd on Flodden edge : Canto VI. ] THE BATTLE 181 The white pavilions made a show. Like remnants of the winter snow. Along the dusky ridge. Long Marmion looked : — at length his eye Unusual movement might descry Amid the shifting lines : The Scottish host drawn out appears, 560 For, flashing on the hedge of spears, The eastern sunbeam 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 570 Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post. And heedful watched them as they cross'd The Till by Twisel Bridge. High sight it is, and haughty, while They dive into the deep defile ; Beneath the cavern'd cliff they fall. Beneath the castle^'s airy wall. By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-tree. Troop after troop are disappearing ; Troop after troop their banners rearing 580 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 sweeping o^er the Gothic arch, And pressing on, in ceaseless march. To gain the opposing hill. 182 MARMION [Canto VI. That morn, to many a trumpet clang, 590 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 spring-tide bloom so lavishly. Had then from many an axe its doom. To give the marching columns room. XX. And why stands Scotland idly now. Dark Flodden ! on thy airy brow. Since England gains the pass the while, 600 And struggles through the deep defile ? What checks the fiery soul of James ? Why sits that champion of the dames Inactive on his steed, And sees, between him and his land. Between him and Tweed's southern strand. His host Lord Surrey lead ? What vails the vain knight-errant's brand ? — Douglas, for thy leading wand ! Fierce Randolph, for thy speed ! 610 for one hour of Wallace wight, Or well-skiird Bruce, 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 Flodden had been Bannockbourne ! — The precious hour has pass'd in vain. And England's host has gain'd the plain ; Wheeling their march, and circling still. Around the base of Flodden hill. 620 XXI. Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye, Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and high. Canto VI.] THE BATTLE 183 " 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 Surrey^s o'er the Till ! — Yet more ! yet more I — how fair arrayed They file from out the hawthorn shade, 630 And sweep so gallant by ! With all their banners bravely spread. And all their armour flashing high. Saint George might waken from the dead. To see fair England's standards fly/' — '' Stint in thy prate," quoth Blount, " thou'dst best. And listen to our lord's behest." — With kindling brow Lord Marmion said, — *' This instant be our band array'd ; The river must be quickly cross'd, 640 That we may join Lord Surrey's host. If fight King James, — as well I trust That fight he will, and fight he must, — The Lady Clare behind our lines Shall tarry while the battle joins." XXIL Himself he swift on horseback threw. 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, 650 And mutter'd as the flood they view, '' 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 ford, and deep. Where to the Tweed Leafs eddies creep. He ventured desperately : 184 MARMION [Canto VI. And not a moment will lie bide. Till squire, or groom, before him ride ; 660 Headmost of all he stems the tide. And stems it gallantly. Eustace held Clare upon her horse. Old Hubert led her rein ; Stoutly they braved the current^s course. And, though far downward driven perforce. The southern bank they gain ; Behind them, straggling, came to shore. As best they might, the train : Each o^'er his head his yew-bow bore, 670 A caution not in vain ; Deep need that day that every string, By wet unharm'd, should sharply ring. A moment then Lord Marmion staid. And breathed his steed, his men array'd. 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. 680 XXIIL Hence might they see the full array Of either host, for deadly fray ; Tlieir marshallM lines stretch'd east and west. And fronted north and south. And distant salutation pass'd From the loud cannon mouth ; Not in the close successive rattle That breathes the voice of modern battle. But slow and far between. — The hillock gained. Lord Marmion staid : 690 " Here, by this cross,^' he gently said, " You well may view the scene. Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare : ! think of Marmion in thy prayer ! — Canto VI.] THE BATTLE 185 Thou wilt not ? — well, no less my care Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare. — You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard. With ten pick'd archers of my train ; With England if the day go hard, To Berwick speed amain. — 700 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 mark the maid^s despair, Nor heed the discontented look From either squire ; but spurred amain. And, dashing through the battle-plain. His way to Surrey took. XXIV. " The good Lord Marmion, by my life ! 710 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 their right. My sons command the vaward post, With Brian Tunstall, stainless knight ; Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light. Shall be in rearward of the fight. And succonr those that need it most. 720 Now, gallant Marmion, well I know, Would gladly to the vanguard go ; Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there. With thee their charge will blithely share ; There fight thine own retainers too. Beneath De Burg, thy steward true.'' — " Thanks, noble Surrey ! '' Marmion said. Nor farther greeting there he paid ; But, parting like a thunderbolt. First in the vanofuard made a halt, 730 186 MARMION [Canto VI. i Where such a shout there rose ■ Of " Marmion ! Marmion ! " that the cry. Up Flodden mountain shrilling high. Startled the Scottish foes. XXV. i Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still | With Lady Clare upon the hill ; | On which, (for far the day was spent,) \ The western sunbeams now were bent. ] The cry they heard, its meaning knew, Could plain their distant comrades view : 740 Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, I " Unworthy office here to stay ! j No hope of gilded spurs to-day. — But see ! look up — on Flodden bent The Scottish foe has fired his tent." \ And sudden, as he spoke, \ From the sharp ridges of the hill. All downward to the banks of Till, 1 Was wreath'd in sable smoke. ■ Volumed and vast, and rolling far, 750 .1 The cloud envelop^l Scotland's war, As down the hill they broke ; , N"or 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 his mountain-throne King James did rushing come. — i Scarce could they hear or see their foes, i Until at weapon-point they close. — 760 ■ 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 portentous birth, \ As if men fought upon the earth, '. And fiends in upper air ; Canto VI.] THE BATTLE 187 I life and death were in the shout, Kecoil and rally, charge and rout, And triumph and despair. Long look'd the anxious squires ; their eye 770 Could in the darkness nought descry. XXVI. At length the freshening 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 flew. As in the storm the white seamew. Then mark'd they, dashing broad and far. The broken billows of the war. And plumed crests of chieftains brave, 780 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. Amid the scene of tumult, high They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly : And stainless Tunstall's banner white, 790 And Edmund Howard's lion bright, Still bear them bravely in the fight ; Although against them come. Of gallant Gordons many a one. And many a stubborn Badenoch-man, And many a rugged Border clan. With Huntly, and with Home. XXVIL Far on the left, unseen the while, Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle ; 188 MARMION [Canto VI. Though there the western mountaineer 800 Rushed with bare bosom on the spear, And flung the feeble targe aside. And with both hands the broadsword plied. 'Twas vain. — But Fortune, on the right, With fickle smile cheerM Scotland's fight. Then fell that spotless banner white. The Howard's lion fell ; Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew With wavering flight, while fiercer grew Around the battle-yell. 810 The Border slogan rent the sky ! A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry : Loud were the clanging blows ; Advanced, — forced back, — now low, now high, The pennon sunk and rose ; As bends the bark's mast in the gale, AVhen rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail. It waver'd 'mid the foes. No longer Blount the view could bear : " By Heaven and all its saints ! I swear 820 I will not see it lost ! Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare May bid your beads, and patter prayer, — I gallop to the host." And to the fray he rode amain. Folio w'd by all the archer train. The fiery youth, with desperate charge. Made, for a space, an opening large, — The rescued banner rose, — But darkly closed the war around, 830 Like pine-tree rooted from the ground It sank among the foes. Then Eustace mounted too, — yet staid. As loath to leave the helpless maid. When, fast as shaft can fly. Bloodshot his eyes, his nostrils spread, The loose rein dangling from his head, Canto VI.] THE BATTLE 189 Housing and saddle bloody red, Lord Marmion's steed rusli'd by ; And Eustace, maddening at the sight, 840 A look and sign to Clara cast, To mark he would return in haste. Then plunged into the fight. XXVIII. 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 850 The tumult roar'd, " Is Wilton there ?" — They fly, or, ijiadden'd by despair. Fight but to die,— ^^ Is Wilton there ?"— With that, straight up the hill there rode Two horsemen drench'd with gore. And in their arms, a helpless load, A wounded knight they bore. His hand still strain'd the broken brand ; His arms were smear'd 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 gone ! That spear-wound has our master sped. And see the deep cut on his head ! Good-night to Marmion.'' — " Unnurtured Blount ! thy brawling cease : He opes his eyes," said Eustace ; " peace ! " 860 70 190 MARMION [Canto VI. XXIX. When, doff'd his casque, he felt free air, Around ^gan Marmion wildly stare : — " Whereas 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-plain That shout shall ne'er be heard again ! — Yet my last thought is England's— fly, 880 To Dacre bear my signet-ring : Tell him his squadrons up to bring. — Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie ; Tunstall lies dead upon the field. His life-blood stains the spotless shield : Edmund is down ; — my life is reft ; The Admiral alone is left. Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, — With Chester charge, and Lancashire, Full upon Scotland's central host, 890 Or victory and England's lost. — Must I bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! fly ! Leave Marmion here alone — to die." They parted, and alone he lay ; Clare drew her from the sight away. Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan, And half he murmur'd, — '^ Is there none Of all my halls have nurst. Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring Of blessed water from the spring, 900 To slake my dying thirst ! " XXX. Woman ! in our hours of ease. Uncertain, coy, and hard to please. And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made ; Canto VI.] THE BATTLE 191 When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou ! — Scarce were the piteous accents said, When with the Baron's casque the maid To the nigh streamlet ran : 910 Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears ; The plaintive voice alone she hears. Sees but the dying man. She stoop'd her by the runners side. But in abhorrence backward drew ; For, oozing from the mountain's side. Where raged the war, a dark-red tide Was curdling in the streamlet blue. Where shall she turn ! — behold her mark A little fountain cell, 920 Where water, clear as diamond-spark. In a stone basin fell. Above, some half-worn letters say, Jrink . toearg . pilgrim . brink . anb . prag . J^or . i\t . kinb . soul . of . ^gbil . feg . M.\]a . built . tljts . tross . airb . foell . She fiird the helm, and back she hied. And with surprise and joy espied A monk supporting Marmion's head ; A pious man, whom duty brought 930 To dubious verge of battle fought. To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. XXXI. Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave. And, as she stoop'd his brow to lave — *^Is it the hand of Clare," he said, " Or injured Constance, bathes my head ? '' Then, as remembrance rose, — " Speak not to me of shrift or prayer ! I must redress her woes. 192 MARMION [Canto VI. Short space, few words, are mine to spare ; 940 Forgive 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 from his wounded side. ^* Then it was truth ; " — he said — "■ I knew 950 That the dark presage must be true. — I would 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 you base marauder's lance. And doubly cursed my failing brand ! 96C A sinful heart makes feeble hand." Then, fainting, down on earth he sunk, Supported by the trembling monk. XXXII. 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 ; 970 For that she ever sung, '^ In the lost tattle, home down hy the flying, Where mingles wain's rattle with groans of the dying I " So the notes runsf. — Canto VI.J THE BATTLE 193 ^^ 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 ; 0, think on faith and bliss ! By many a death-bed I have been, 980 And many a sinner's parting seen. But never aught like this." — The war, that for a space did fail, Now trebly thundering swell'd the gale, And — Stanley ! was the cry ; — A light on Marm ion's visage spread. And fired his glazing eye : With dying hand above his head He shook the fragment of his blade. And shouted ^^ Victory !— 990 Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on ! " Were the last words of Marmion. XXXIII. By this, though deep the evening fell. Still rose the battle's deadly swell. For still the Scots, around their King, Unbroken, fought in desperate ring. Where's now their victor vaward wing. Where Huntly, and where Home ? — 0, for a blast of that dread horn. On Fontarabian echoes borne, 1000 That to King Charles did come. When Rowland brave, and Olivier, And every paladin and peer. On Roncesvalles died ! Such blasts might warn them, not in vain. To quit the plunder of the slain, And turn the doubtful day again. While yet on Flodden side. 194 MABMION [Canto YI Afar, the Koyal Standard flies. And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies, 1010 Our Caledonian pride ! In vain the wish — for far away. While spoil and havoc mark their way. Near Sybil's Cross the plunderers stray. — " Lady," cried the monk, '^'^away ! '' And 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 1020 She met her kinsman. Lord Fitz- Clare. XXXIV. ■I But as they left the darkening heath " ^ More desperate grew the strife of death. : The English shafts in volleys hail'd, I In headlong charge their horse assailed ; j 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, 1030 \ Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow, ' Unbroken was the ring ; ! The stubborn spearmen still made good j Their dark impenetrable wood, \ Each stepping where his comrade stood ■ The instant that he fell. No thought was there of dastard flight ; j Linked in the serried phalanx tight, \ Groom fought like noble, squire like knight, j As fearlessly and well ; 1040 ' Till utter darkness closed her wing j O'er their thin host and wounded King. 1 Canto VI.] THE BATTLE 195 Then skilful Surrey's sage commands Led back from strife his shattered bands ; And from the charge they drew. As mountain-waves, from wasted lands. Sweep back to ocean blue. Then did their loss his foeman know ; Their King, their lords, their mightiest low, They melted from the field, as snow, 1050 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, through her currents dash. To gain the Scottish land ; To town and tower, to down and dale. To tell red Flodden's dismal tale. And raise the universal wail. Tradition, legend, tune, and song 1060 Shall many an age that wail prolong : Still from the sire the son shall hear Of the stern strife, and carnage drear. Of Flodden's fatal field. Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear. And broken was her shield ! XXXV. Day dawns upon the mountain's side : — There, Scotland ! lay thy bravest pride, Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a one : The sad survivors all are gone.— 1070 View not that corpse mistrustfully. Defaced and mangled though it be ; • Nor to yon Border castle high Look northward with upbraiding eye ; Nor cherish hope in vain That, journeying far on foreign strand, The Royal Pilgrim to his land 196 MARMION [Canto VI. May yet return again. He saw the wreck his rashness wrought ; Reckless of life, he desperate fought, 1080 And fell on Flodden plain : And well in death his trusty brand. Firm clench'd within his manly hand. Beseemed the monarch slain. But ! how changed since yon blithe night ! Gladly I turn me from the sight Unto my tale again. XXXVI. Short is my tale : — Fitz-Eustace' care A pierced and mangled body bare To moated Lichfield's lofty pile ; 1090 And there, beneath the southern aisle, A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair. Did long Lord Marmion's image bear. (Now vainly for its site you look ; ^Twas levelled, when fanatic Brook The fair cathedral storm'd and took ; But, thanks to Heaven, and good Saint Chad, A guerdon meet the spoiler had !) There erst was martial Marmion found. His feet upon a couchant hound, 1100 His hands to Heaven upraised ; And all around, on scutcheon rich. And tablet carved, and fretted niche. His arms and feats were blazed. And yet, though all was carved so fair, And priest for Marmion breathed the prayer. The last Lord Marmion lay not tliere. From Ettrick woods, a peasant swain Followed his lord to Flodden plain, — One of those flowers, whom plaintive lay 1110 In Scotland mourns as " wede away " : Canto VI.] THE BATTLE 197 Sore wounded, Sybil's Cross he spied. And dragg'd him to its foot, and died. Close by the noble Marmion's side. The spoilers stripped and gash'd the slain. And thus their corpses were mistaken ; And thus, in the proud Baron's tomb The lowly woodsman took the room. XXXVII. Less easy task it were, to show Lord Marmion's nameless grave and low. 1120 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 yet from out the little hill Oozes the slender springlet still. Oft halts the stranger there. For thence may best his curious eye The memorable field descry ; 1130 And shepherd boys 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 left'st the right path for the wrong ; 1140 If every devious step thus trod Still led thee farther from the road ; Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom On noble Marmion's lowly tomb ; But say, '' He died a gallant knight, With sword in hand, for England's right." 198 MARMION [Canto VI \ XXXVIII. \ J I do not rhyme to that dull elf \ Who cannot image to himself j That all through Flodden's dismal night j Wilton was foremost in the tight ; 1150 ! That when brave Surrey's steed was slain I 'Twas Wilton mounted him again ; ^ 'Twas W^ilton's brand that deepest hew'd Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood : Unnamed by Holinshed or Hall, He was the living soul of all ; i That, after fight, his faith made plain, j He won his rank and lands again ; i And charged his old paternal shield i With bearings won on Flodden Field. 1160 I 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 relate, ' Paint to her mind the bridal's state ; i That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke, \ More, Sands, and Denny, pass'd the joke : That bluff King Hal the curtain drew. And Catherine's hand the stocking threw ; 1170 And afterwards, for many a day, \ That it was held enough to say, j In blessing to a wedded pair, j '' Love they like Wilton and like Clare I " . ] L'ENVOY 199 TO THE READER. Why then a final note prolong, Or lengthen out a closing song. Unless to bid the gentles speed. Who long have listed to my rede ? To Statesmen grave, if such ma}' deign To read the MinstreFs idle strain, Sound head, clean hand, and piercing wit, And patriotic heart — as Pitt ! A garland for the heron's crest, And twined by her he loves the best ; 10 To every lovely lady bright, What can I wish but faithful knight ? To every faithful lover too. What can I wish but lady true ? And knowledge to the studious sage ; And pillow to the head of age. To thee, dear school-boy, whom my lay Has cheated of thy hour of play, Light task, and merry holiday ! To all, to each, a fair good-night, 20 And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light ! NOTES INTRODUCTION TO CANTO I. William Stewart Rose was a literary man of some distinc- tion. His friendship with Scott was of long standing. When Scott was returning from London, during his composi- tion of Marmion, he visited Rose at his cottage of Gundimore, in Hampshire. Rose w^as known chiefly by his Letters from the North of Italy and his translation of Orlando Furioso. He also translated the romances Amadis de Gaul and Par- tenopex de Blois, which Scott alludes to in line 310 if. The introduction was written late in 1806. Pitt had died early in the year, worn out by the strain of keeping the beaten powers of Europe in line against Napoleon. Fox, who had succeeded to the direction of foreign affairs, had failed to realize the great dream of his life, peace with Napoleon, and had died eight months after his rival. The last catastrophe on the Continent had been the annihilation of the Prussian power at Jena, in October, 1806. 3. Linn is used for cascade, pool, or ravine. Here it refers to the ravine which was close under the Avindows of the house of Ashestiel, ' ' down which a mountain rivulet is more heard than seen in its progress to the Tweed. ' ' — Lockhart. 14. Tweed. "The river itself is separated from the high bank on which the house stands only by a narrow meadow of the richest verdure." — Lockhart. The Tweed flows in a generally eastAvard direction. On the southern bank, east of Ashestiel, are Flodden Edge and Norham Castle. 20. Needpath-fell, a hill near Ashestiel. Fell, a rocky hill. 22. Yair, another hill near Ashestiel. 23. Pinehing, as in Shakspere, biting. Cf. our expression, * ' a biting frost. ' ' Heaven, weather. 30. Olenkinnon's Rill, a brook near Ashestiel. 202 MABMION [Introduction to 37. Imp. ** Imp " is used for child, especially for a naughty or mischievous child. Scott had four children when this was written. 50. Round, a circular dance of persons holding hands. Cf. Comus, 148, "light fantastic round." Here it may refer to the dance of the children, or, loosely used, to the bounding of the lambs. 64. Probably a reminiscence of Wordsworth's Ode on Inti- mations of Immortality : " To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears." 72. Oadite, an adjective formed from Cadiz, called by the Romans Gades. Cape Trafalgar is thirty miles south of Cadiz. Here Nelson destroyed the French fleet, October 31, 1805. 73. Levin, lightning. 80. Who hade the conqueror go forth. William Pitt was the Prime Minister of England from 1788 to 1801, and from 1803 to 1806. His father, the Earl of Chatham, was the great war minister to whose genius England owed her triumph over France in the Seven Years' War, and her conquest of Canada. Pitt the younger became Prime Minister at the age of twenty- five. He was not a war minister. ' ' He was in fact a peace minister, forced into war by a panic and enthusiasm which he shared in a very small degree, and unaided by his father's gift of at once entering into the sympathies and passions around him, and of rousing passions and sympathies in return." — Green, A Short Histoi^y of the English People. Neverthe- less, Pitt is remembered for his desperate attempt to foil Na- poleon by his successive coalitions of the powers. 82. Egypt, Hafnia, Trafalgar, are scenes of Nelson's vic- tories ; the Nile, 1798; Copenhagen, 1801; Trafalgar, 1805. 90. Albion, the poetic name for England. In contrast to the usual corruption of public men of the eighteenth century Pitt neglected his opportunities of enrichment to such an extent that he died £40,000 in debt. His last words were, * * My country ! How I leave my country ! ' ' 91. Amain, with force. Cf. the familiar phrase, "with might and main. ' ' 92. The reference here is to the internal disturbances in England, the bread riots of 1795 and 1800, etc. In spite of this discontent Pitt organized a national army of three hun- Canto I.] NOTES 203 dred thousand volunteers to meet Napoleon's threatened in- vasion. 104. Tottering throne, an allusion to the insanity of George the Third. 111. Palinure's unaltered mood, an allusion to the stead- fastness of Aeneas' helmsman, who refused to be seduced from his post by Somnus, the god of sleep, and was hurled into the sea by the angry god. — Aeneid, v., 854 ff. 127. His rival slumbers nigh. Charles James Fox was Pitt's opponent from the latter's first entry into public life. He is buried near Pitt in Westminster Abbey. 130. Scott inserted the next twelve lines in place of six which occur in the original manuscript. The change was obviously made in order to make the balance between the two men more complete. The lines as first written are : "If genius high, and judgment sound, And art that loved to play, not wound. And all the reasoning powers divine, To penetrate, resolve, combine, Could save one mortal of the herd From error— Fox had never err'd." Even the passage as altered did not please Fox's admirers. Jeffrey wrote in his cutting criticism in the Edinhiirgh Review : **The first epistolary effusion, containing a threnody on Nelson, Pitt, and Fox, exhibits a remarkable failure. We are unwilling to quarrel with a poet on the score of politics ; but the manner in which he has chosen to praise the last of these great men is more likely, we conceive, to give offence to his admirers, than the most direct censure. The only deed for which he is praised is for having broken off the negotia- tion for peace ; and for this act of firmness, it is added. Heaven rewarded him with a share in the honoured gi-ave of Pitt ! It is then said that his errors should be forgotten, and that he died a Briton — a pretty plain insinuation that, in the Author's opinion, he did not live one ; and just such an en- comium as he himself pronounces over the grave of his villain hero, Marmion. ' ' 135. Resolve, resolve into its elements ; analyze. 139. Error, a reference to Fox's private debauchery. 143. Here, Westminster Abbey. 146. Aisles. The aisles, from ala, wing, are the longitu- dinal divisions of the body of a church made by rows of columns. The term is usually applied to the side divisions 204 MAR3II0N [Introduction to as distinct from the central one. Fretted refers to the orna- mentation of the aisles by the intersecting lines of the ceiling. 154 ff. These lines refer to Fox's course while Secretary for Foreign Affairs in 1806. Austria "bent" at Austerlitz, where Napoleon completely defeated her forces and obliged her to sign the treaty of Presburg at the close of 1805. Prussia "broke" at Jena, October 14, 1806, after which the Prussian monarchy almost collapsed, and became in fact a mere vassal of France. Russia had been in alliance with England, but in the negotiations after Austerlitz her ambassador agreed to a peace with Napoleon without consulting the interests of the allies. This ambassador, D'Oubril, was the "timorous slave. " The treaty was, however, repudiated by the Czar. Fox had long contended in Parliament for peace with France. As minister he entered into negotiations with Napoleon, but he was forced to see at last that there was no chance of securing any- thing like honorable terms. In spite of the fact that all of England's allies were wavering or broken, he refused to ac- cept what Napoleon offered. Scott is somewhat unchronological in this passage. Jena was not fought until after Fox's death. The premature treaty of Russia with France was signed while England was negotiating with France. Its repudiation by the Czar was one reason why England withdrew from these negotiations. This final withdrawal, and the formal adoption of Pitt's war policy by the new ministry, which might be described as nailing the colors to the mast, took place some weeks after Fox's death. 177. Thessalian, an allusion to the common belief that Thes- saly was the home of witchcraft. 199. Hearse, tomb. The hearse was originally a harrow. The term was then applied to the triangular frame holding upright candles that was placed over the coffin. It then came to be used of various objects connected with funerals, usually of the tomb, as here. Cf. " Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse Be drops of balm to sanctify thy head." — Henry IV., Second Part, iv., v. 203. Border' Minstrel, a reference to Scott himself, whose earlier Lay had been praised by both Pitt and Fox. 204. Gothic, rude; opposed to classical. The term was ap- plied with something of contempt by eighteenth century writers of classical tendencies to the romantic school. Historically the Canto I.] NOTES 205 term comes from the Goths, the sturdiest opponents of the Western Roman Empire, and is used loosely for various ele- ments {e.g., Gothic architecture) in mediaeval civilization which may have been remotely due to their intiuence, 217. Ecstasy, high emotion. 220 if. The picture of Westminster Abbey, which the poet has called up in his mind, fades. 232. Prompt, etc. The poet is ready to undertake tasks for w^hich he is unequal. 235. Waste, spend, its meaning often in Shakspere. Cf. " companions that do converse and waste the time together," Merchant of Venice, iii. , iv. 238. Shrilling, a participle from an old verb, "to shrill." 254. Palsied hand. Palsied is not a passive participle, but an adjective, meaning furnished with the power of palsying. Shakspere affords many examples of like use. 256. Steely weeds, clothes of steel. Weeds is sometunes used in the sense of garments even to-day. Cf. "In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er." — Tennyson, In Memoriam. 258. The Champion of the Lake, Sir Lancelot of the Lake. 259. Morgana was King Arthur's wicked sister, Queen Mor- gan Le Fay, who, out of her vain love for Lancelot, brought him by enchantment to her castle, and, on his rejecting her lov^e, conjured up a "chapel perilous," guarded by armed giants and deadly spells, by beguiling him whither on a knightly ad- venture, she hoped to bring about his death. See Malory's famous Mort Darthur, Book xi. 263. Oanore, King Arthur's wife. Queen Guinevere, 265. Lancelot's fight Avith Sir Turquine (Tarquin) Avill be found in the Mort Darthur, Book vi., chapters vii.-ix. 267. A sinful man and unconfess'd, etc. Lancelot's vain quest of the Holy Grail is best read in Tennyson's Tfie Holy Grail. See also Mort Darthur, Book xiii., chapters xviii., xix. TJnconfess' d, not having confessed his sins and been shrived, 271. The mightiest chiefs, etc, , a fact which the romanticists were not slow to remember, 273, Spenser's elfin dream, a reference to The Faerie Queene. 274. Milton's heavenly theme. It is well known that Milton in his youth thought of writing an Arthurian epic. In Para- dise Lost and Paradise Regained there are references which show his familiarity with British legends. Cf. Paradise Lost, Book i., line 580. 206 MARMION [Canto I. 275. And Dryden, etc. At one time Dryden had in mind an epic based on the legends of King Arthur, but was turned away from this and a similar project by finding that the taste of his times demanded less heroic themes and a different style. See his Essay on Satire. 282. Defrauded. The verb looks back for its subject to "king and court." 294. Prick, spur. 308. Lion-mettled, having the mettle of a lion. 310. Fair achievement. See note above on William Stewart Rose. 312. Ytene's oaks. "The New Forest in Hampshire, an- ciently so called." — Scott. Rose lived near the New Forest. 314. Ascapart, etc. Ascapart was a giant, conquered by Bevis of Southampton, whose History, in various forms, re- mained popular until the eighteenth century. 315. Bed King, William II., Rufus, or the Red, who was shot by mistake by his favorite huntsman, Sir Walter Tyrrell, in the New Forest. 320. Gaul, Wales. 321. Hall. "In hall and bower," i.e., among men and women, is a conmion expression in the old ballads. 322. Oriana, the English princess for whom Amadis under- took his adventures, as described in Amadis de Gaul, the most famous of the prose romances of the middle age. Amadis de Gaul was probably Avritten by Vasco de Lobeira, a Portuguese knight of the fourteenth century. It was, however, so ex- tensively translated, added to and imitated, that the original remains somewhat doubtful. A good example of the epic style in which it was written is found in Don Quixote. 325. Partenopex. Partenopex de Blois, a metrical romance of the thirteenth century, narrating the adventures of Parte- nopex, while seeking the love of a fairy. CANTO I. 1. Norham. * ' The ruinous castle of Norham (anciently called Ubbanford) is situated on the southern bank of the Tweed, about six miles from Berwick, and where that river is still the boundary between England and Scotland. The extent of its ruins, as well as its historical importance, shows it to have been a place of magnificence, as well as strength. Edward I. Canto I.] NOTES 207 resided there when he was created umpire of the dispute con- cerning the Scottish succession. It was repeatedly taken and retaken during the wars betAveen England and Scotland ; and, indeed, scarce any happened in which it had not a principal share. . . . The ruins of the castle are at present consider- able, as well as picturesque. They consist of a large shattered tower, Avith many vaults, and fragments of other edifices, in- closed within an outward wall of great circuit. " — Scott. 4. Battled, prepared for battle ; furnished with battlements. Donjon keep. "It is perhaps unnecessary to remind my readers, that the donjon, in its proper signification, means the strongest part of a feudal castle ; a high square tower, with walls of tremendous thickness, situated in the centre of the other buildings, from which, however, it was usually detached. Here, in case of the outward defences being gained, the garri- son retreated to make their last stand. The donjon contained the great hall, and principal rooms of state for solenni occa- sions, and also the prison of the fortress ; from which last cir- cumstance we derive the modern and restricted use of the word dungeon. " — Scott. 5. Loophole grates, loopholes covered by grating. 14. Saint George, the patron saint of England from the time of Edward III. His cross in red on a white ground was the English flag. The original of St. George is supposed to have been an officer in the Roman Army who suffered martyrdom under Diocletian. Others derive the saint from the infamous George of Cappadocia (see Gibbon, Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, chapter xxiii.). Both origins are improb- able. 20. Parted, departed. 29. Hormliff-hill, a hill east of Norham. Plump. "This word properly applies to the flight of waterfowl ; but is ap- plied, by analogy, to a body of horse. ' There is a knight of the North Country, Which leads a lusty jj^wmi) of spears.'— i^Zodden Fie7d."— Scott. 33. Mettled, spirited. See note on Introduction to Canto I., 1. 308. 38. Hasted, hastened. 42. Sewer, originally, the taster ; generally, the officer who had charge of servmg the feast. Seneschal, the steward or head of the household. 43. Pipe, cask. Malvoisie, Malmsey wine, so called from Malvasia, a Greek town where it was produced. 50. Salvo-shot. In the manuscript, " welcome shot. " 208 M ARM ION [Canto I. 55. Portcallis, a heavy do(ir let down from above to close an opening. 56. Unsparr''d, unbarred. 62. Stalworth, stalwart. 65. Bosworth field. At Bosworth in 1485 Henry VII. won the crown of England from Richard III. 79. Milan steel. The most famous armor of the Middle Ages was made in Milan. 86. Soared sable, etc. , heraldic terms. The field or general surface of the coat of arms was blue ; the falcon, which soared in the field, was black. 88. Checks^ a technical term in falconry, meaning to turn aside to attack, or as Schmidt explains it in his Shakespeare Lexicon, ''applied to a hawk stopping at the sight of game not seen before." Cf. "And, like the haggard, check at every feather," Tivelfth Night, iii., i. Bight, from Anglo-Saxon diJitan, prepared, appointed. "The crest and motto of Marmion are borrowed from the following story : Sir David de Lindsay, first Earl of Crauford, was, among other gentlemen of quality, attended, during a visit to London, in 1390, by Sir William Dalzell, who was, ac- cording to my authority. Bower, not only excelling in wisdom, but also of a lively wit. Chancing to be at the court, he there saw Sir Piers (>)urtenay, an English kniglit, famous for his skill in tilting, and for the beauty of his person, parading the palace, arrayed in a new mantle, bearing for device an em- broidered falcon, with this rhyme : " ' I bear a falcon, fairest of flight, Whoso pinches at her, his death is dight. In graith. ' ' ' * The Scottish knight, being a wag, appeared next day in a dress exactly similar to that of Courtenay, but bearing a mag- pie instead of the falcon, with a motto ingeniously contrived to rhyme to the vaunting inscription of Sir Piers : " ' I bear a pie picking at a peice, Whoso picks at her, 1 shall pick at his nese,' In faith.' "This affront could only be expiated by a just with sharp lances. In the course, Dalzell left his helmet unlaced, so that it gave way at the touch of his antagonist's lance, and he thus avoided the shock of the encounter. This happened twice : in the third encounter, the handsome Courtenay lost 1 Armour. = Nose, Canto I.] NOTES 209 two of his front teeth. As the Englishman complained bitterly of Dalzell'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 pounds, to be forfeited, if, on entering the lists, any unequal advantage should be detected. This being agreed to, the wily Scot demanded that Sir Piers, in addition to tlie loss of his teeth, should consent to the ex- tinction of one of his eyes, he himself having lost an eye in the light of Otterburn. As Courtenay demurred to this equaliza- tion of optical powers, Dalzell demanded the forfeit; which, after nnich altercation, the King appointed to be paid to him, saying, he surpassed the English both in wit and valour. This must appear to the reader a singular specimen of the humour of that time. I suspect the Jockey Club would have given a different decision from Henry IV." — Scott. 91. Housing, covering of the horse. 92. Trapped, adorned. 95. Gilded spurs, the badge of knighthood. 98. Bear the ring away, an allusion to the knightly sport of riding at the ring, in which a horseman at full speed tried to carry off on the point of his lance a ring suspended before him. Cf. Scott's Rosabelle : " 'Tis not because the ring they ride, And Lindesay at the ring rides well." 100. Carve at hoai^d. Chaucer's squire, it will be remembered, "carf byforn his fader at the table,'' Prologue to the Canter- bury Tales, 1. 100. 101. Passing, exceeding. Cf. "surpassing." 104. Halhert, a combination of spear and axe. Bill, a knife with a pole for a handle. 107. TW^evi, elliptical ; " for the time when. " 108. Him listed, it pleased him. IIG. Hosen, trousers, as in Shakspere. Hosen is the old plural form. Cf. "oxen." Je/7vi7?6', short coats. 122. Cloth-yard shaft, an arrow somewhat more than a yard long. See note on V., 18. 130. Morion, a helmet without a visor. 134. Linstoiik., perhaps lintstock, or, more probably lont- stock, from lont, a match ; a cleft stick which held the match used to fire the cannon. Fare, ready. 139. Mor rice-pikes, Moorish pikes. Advanced, raised, as frequently in Shakspere. Cf ' ' The fringed curtains of thine eye advance," Tempest, i., ii. 210 MARMION [Canto I. 141. Glanced, flashed. 146. Angels, English corns worth at this time about ten shil- lings. On one side they bore a figure of the Archangel Michael killing the dragon. 149. Brook ^ use, manage, or control. In The Lady of the Lake we have the sword which only Douglas's ' ' stalwart arm might brook to wield." The word in its usual sense of " bear " is extremely common in Scott's poetry. 151. Pursuivants, attendants on the heralds. Tabarts (or tabards), short coats or tunics on which were blazoned the arms of the wearers. Tabards were always worn by heralds. 157. TJiey haiVd Mm, etc. " Lord Marmion, the principal character of the present romance, is entirely a fictitious per- sonage. In earlier times, indeed, the family of Marmion, Lords of Fontenay, in Normandy, was highly distinguished. Robert de Marmion, Lord of Fontenay, a distinguished follower of the Conqueror, obtained a grant of the castle and town of Tamworth, and also of the manor of Scrivelby, in Lincoln- shire. One or both of these noble possessions was held by the honorable service of being the royal champion, as the ancestors of Marmion had formerly been to the Dukes of Nor- mandy. ... I have not, therefore, created a new family, but only revived the titles of an old one in an imaginary personage. '* It was one of the Marmion family, who, in the reign of Edward II., performed that chivalrous feat before the very Castle of Norham, which Bishop Percy has woven into his beautiful ballad, * The Hermit of Warkworth. ' The story is thus told by Leland : " ' The Scottes came yn to the marches of England, and de- stroyed the castles of AVerk and Herbotel, and overran much of Northumberland marches. '* ' At this tyme, Thomas Gray and his friends defended Norham from the Scottes. " ' It were a wonderful processe to declare, what mischefes cam by hungre and asseges by the space of xi. yeres in Nor- thumberland ; for the Scottes became so proude after they had got Berwicke, that they nothing esteemed the Englishmen. "'About this tyme there was a greate teste made yn Lin- colnshir, to which cam many gentlemen and ladies ; and amonge them one lady brought a heaulme for a man of were, with a very rich creste of gold, to William Marmion, knight, with a letter of commandement of her lady, that he should go into the daungerest place in England, and ther to let the heaulme be seene and known as famous. So he went to Nor- ham ; whither withyn 4 days of cumming cam Philip Mou- Canto I.] NOTES 211 bray, guardian of Berwicke, having yn his bande 40 men of amies, the very flour of men of the Scottish marches. ' ' ' Thomas Gray, capitayne of Norham, seynge this, brought his garison afore the barriers of the castle, behynd whom cam William, richly arrayed, as al glittering in gold, and wering the heaulme, his lady's present. ' ' ' Then said Thomas Gray to Marmion, ' ' Sir knight, ye be cum hither to fame your helmet : mount up on yowr horse, and ryde lyke a valiant man to yowr foes even here at hand, and I forsake God if I rescue not thy body deade or alyve, or I my- self wyl dye for it. ' ' ' ' ' Whereupon he toke his cursere, and rode among the throng of ennemyes ; the which layed sore stripes on hym, and pullid hym at the last out of his sadel to the grounde. ' ' ' Then Thomas Gray, with al the hole garrison, lette prik yn among the Scottes, and so wondid them and their horses, that they were overthrown ; and Marmion, sore beten, was horsid agayn, and, with Gray, persewed the Scottes yn chase. There were taken fifty horse of price ; and the women of Nor- ham brought them to the foote men to follow the chase. ' " — Scott. 161. Marks' toeight. The mark, a Aveight equal to eight ounces, and was also a coin worth 13 shillings and 4 pence. 163. Largesse. '* This was the cry with which heralds and pursuivants were wont to acknowledge the bounty received from the knights. * ' The heralds, like the minstrels, were a race allowed to have great claims 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, Norham, and other Border fortresses of im- portance, pursuivants usually resided, whose inviolable char- acter rendered them the only persons that could, with perfect assurance of safety, be sent on necessary embassies into Scot- land. This is alluded to in Stanza xxi. ' ' — Scott. 165. Blazoned shield, a shield on which particular bearings or heraldic emblems were displayed. Cf. VI., 1160, where Wilton is allowed to add special bearings for his valor at Flodden. 171. Lording s, diminutive of lords ; a term of respect. 174. Lists, the tournament. 185. Reversed, part of the ceremony of degrading a knight. See note on II., 523. 192. Sir Hugh the Heron. "Were accuracy of any conse- quence in a fictitious narrative, this castellan's name ought to have been William ; for William Heron of Ford was husband 212 HARM ION [Canto I. to the famous Lady Ford, whose siren charms are said to have cost our James IV. so dear. Moreover, the said William Heron was, at the time supposed, a prisoner in Scotland, being sur- rendered by Henry VIII. on account of his sliare in the slaugh- ter 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 own castle at Ford." — Scott. 193. Ford. Ford Castle is a mile northeast of FloddenHill. 195. Deas. Dais. 200. *' The ballad here quoted was the production of Mr. R. Surtees, and palmed off by him upon Scott as a genuine relic of antiquity." — Lockhart. The entire ballad, called The Death of Feather stonhaugh, is given in Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. 303. Hardriding Dick, Richard Ridley of Hardriding. 205. Sir Albany Feather stonhaugh was killed in 1530. 206. Deadman' s-shaw, Deadman's Wood. 222. Couch, to put the lance in rest, or at the level for charg- ing, where it was sustained by a projection on the armor. 231. Wassel-bowl. Wassail (wassel) comes from the Anglo- Saxon waeshael, a greeting of health. It came to denote the festivities at which such greetings were given, and the liquor in which they were drunk. This latter was a mixture of ale, with spices and crab-apples. 238. Raby, a castle near Durham. 257. Brook. Here and below (1. 262) brook has its usual meaning of bear, endure. 264. Liiidisfarn. See note on II., 10. 277. Fosse, moat. 281. Qiieen Margaret, daughter of Henry VII. and wife of James IV. of Scotland. 284. Leash, the cord by which the hound is held. 286. Soar her swing, soar until tired. 287. Stoop, lower her flight. See IV., 585, and VI., 389. 298. Warbeck. "■ The story of Perkin Warbeck, or Richard, Duke of York, is well known. In 1496, he was received honourably in Scotland ; and James IV., after conferring upon him in marriage his own relation, the Lady (Catherine Gor- don, made war on England in behalf of his pretensions. To retaliate an invasion of England, Surrey advanced into Ber- wickshire at the head of considerable forces, but retreated, after taking the inconsiderable fortress of Ayton. " — Scott. 300. Surrey. Thomas Howard, Earl of Surrey, afterward made Duke of Norfolk, was later given command of the Canto I.] NOTES 213 English forces in the North, and repulsed the Scottish king at Flodden. Power, army, as in Shakspere. 301. Ayton, a town in Berwickshire. 302. Trow, believe. 303. Enoio, properly, the plural of enough, but used in both numbers. 304. Pricked. See note on Introduction to Canto I., 294. 305. Dunbar, a town at the mouth of the Firth of Forth. 306. Saint Bothan, the name of a parish in Berwickshire which contained a convent of the Cistercians. 307. Lauderdale, the western part of Berwickshire. 308. Harried, plundered. Greenlaw, the capital of Ber- wickshire. 309. Light to set their hoods. " The garrisons of the English castles of Wark, Norham, and Berwick, were, as may be easily supposed, very troublesome neighbours to Scotland. . . . The last line of the text contains a phrase, by which the Bor- derers jocularly intimated the burning a house. When the Maxwells, in 1G85, burned the castle of Lochwood, they said they did so to give the Lady Johnstone ' light to set her hood. ' Nor was the phrase inapplicable ; for, in a letter to which I have mislaid the reference, the Earl of Northumberland writes to the King and Council, that he dressed himself at midnight, at Warkworth, by the blaze of the neighbouring villages burned by the Scottish marauders. ' ' — Scott. 312. Lack, want. 324. Pardoner, an officer of the church licensed to sell par- dons. 337. An allusion to the hardships of the siege. 338. Durham aisle. Here aisle is used for cathedral. 340. Woe betide, unluckily. 341. Too well in case, too stout. 342. The priest of Shores^nood. ' ' This churchman seems to have been akin to Welsh, the vicar of St. Thomas of Exeter, a leader among the Cornish insurgents in 1549. ' This man,' says Hollinshed, ' had many good things in him. He was of no great stature, but well set, and raightilie compact : he was a very good w^restler ; shot well, both in the long-bow, and also in the cross-bow ; he handled his hand-gun and peece very w^ell ; he was a very good woodman, and a hardie, and such a one as would not give his head for the polling, or his beard for the washing. He was a companion in any exercise of ac- tivitie, and of a courteous and gentle behaviour. He de- scended of a good, honest parentage, being borne at Peneverin, 214 MARMION [Canto I. in Cornwall ; and yet, in this rebellion, an arch-captain, and a principal doer.' This model of clerical talents had the mis- fortune to be hanged upon the steeple of his own church." — Scott. Shoreswood and Tillmouth (1. 346) are villages near Norham. 351. Holy- Rood, the royal palace in Edinburgh. 354. Saint Bede, the Venerable Bede, an early English scholar. His day is May 27th. 362. Shrieve, shrive. 368. Woe were we. Woe seems to be used here as a predicate adjective. Cf. Cymheline, v. , 5, " My heart is woe. ' ' 372. Tables, backgammon. 384. Crabs, crabapples. 387. Fay, faith. 389. Palmer. * * A Palmer, opposed to a Pilgrim, was one who made it his sole business to visit different holy shrines, travelling incessantly, and subsisting by charity ; whereas the Pilgrim retired to his usual home and occupations, when he had paid his devotions at the particular spot which was the object of his pilgrimage. ' ' — Scott. The name seems to have come from the practice of bringing palm branches back from the East. 390. Salem, Jerusalem. 391. The blessed tomb, the Holy Sepulchre. 400. Dint, stroke. Levin. See note on Introduction to Canto I., 73. 402. Saint James's cockle-shell. Pilgrims to the shrine of Saint James in Galicia brought back shells as tokens of their pilgrimage. 403. Montserrat, a mountain in northeast Spain with a Benedictine abbey on it. 404. A7id of that Grot, etc. Saint Rosalie was a lady of Palermo, who forsook the world, and lived in a cleft of rock in such an inaccessible spot that it was believed that she was carried thither by angels. A chapel was built on the place where her body was found. 408. Saint George of Norwich merry. The cult of Saint George seems early to have been associated with festivities. In Norwich there was a guild of St. George. 409. Saint TJiomas, Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, mur- dered in 1170. His tomb was a famous resort for pilgrims. 410. Cuthbert. See below on II., 356. I Canto I.] NOTES 215 421. Oramercy, from grand merci, much thanks. 428. Cockle-shell. 8ee above on 402. 429. Angels. See above on 146. 430. Still, always. 447. As, as if. 453. Aces, invocations to the Virgin, beginning "Ave Maria." It has been pointed out that "ten aves and two creeds ' ' do not represent any specific part of tlie rosary. 465. The scallop shell. Pilgrims from Palestine also wore the scallop shell. See on 402, above. 467. Loretto, on the east coast of Italy. Here was the famous shrine, containing a house supposed to have been the Virgin's dwelling at Nazareth. 472. When as, an intensive form of lolien. 500. &o, if. 504. Bound, the past participle of hoivne, to prepare. See below, IV., 487. Bound came to be used especially in cases where the idea of going was prominent, while houne was re- served for the broader meaning, prepared. See Lady of the Lake, VI., xv., 28. " To hero boune for battle strife." 506. Saint Ride. "Saint Regulus [Scottice, St. Rule), a monk of Patraej in Achaia, warned by a vision, is said, a.d. 370, to have sailed westward, until he landed at St. Andrew's, in Scotland, where he founded a chapel and tower. The latter is still standing ; and, though we may doubt the precise date of its foundation, is certainly one of the most ancient edifices in Scotland. A cave, nearly fronting the ruinous castle of the Archbishops of St. Andrew's, bears the name of this religious person. It is difficult of access, and the rock in which it is hewed is washed by the German ocean. It is nearly round, about ten feet in diameter, and the same in height. On one side is a sort of stone altar ; on the other an aperture into an inner den, where the miserable ascetic, who inhabited this dwelling, probably slept. At full tide, egress and regress is hardly practicable, " — Scott. 509. Saint Fillan's. "Saint Fillan was a Scottish saint of some reputation. . . . There are in Perthshire several wells and springs dedicated to St. Fillan, which are still places of pilgrimage and offerings, even among the Protestants. They are held powerful in cases of madness ; and, in some of very late occurrence, lunatics have been left all night bound to the holy stone, in confidence that the saint would cure and unloose them before morning. [See various notes to the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. y' — Scott, 216 MARMION [Introduction to One of Saint Fillan's springs is mentioned in The Lady of the Lake, Introduction : " Harp of the North, that mouldering long hast hung On the witch elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring." 534. Hasty mass, a mass shortened for special occasions. 538. &timip-cup, a cup of wine drunk by the guest after mounting to depart. INTRODUCTION TO CANTO II. The Reverend John Harriot was tlie tutor of Lord Scott, son of the Earl of Dalkeith, who afterward succeeded to the dukedom of Buccleuch. Harriot had contributed to The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. 2. Wiere flourished once afforest fair. **Ettrick Forest, now a range of mountainous sheep-walks, was anciently re- served for the pleasure of the royal chase. Since it was dis- parked, the wood has been, by degrees, almost totally de- stroyed. ' ' — Scott. 15. Rowan, mountain ash. 32. Neivark, on the Yarrow, near Selkirk. . Newark Castle was one of the possessions of the house of Buccleuch. In this castle the Last Minstrel sings his Lay to the Duchess of Buc- cleuch. 33. Scottish monarch. Newark was built by James 11. Power. See on I., 300. 41. Leash. See on I., 284. Oazehound, a hound which, like the greyhound, runs by sight, not by scent. 42. Bratchet, "slowhound." — Scott. Brach is used in Shakspere for a hound that runs by scent. "Hound or span- iel, brach or lym," King Lear, iii., vi. 45. Quarry, the game. 48. Harquehiiss, the same as arquebus, a heavy musket. 55. Where erst the outlaio. * ' The tale of the Outlaw Hur- ray, who held out Newark Castle and Ettrick Forest against the King, may be found in the Border Minstrelsy, vol, i." — Scott. 61. Holt, wood. 73. Boivhill, a residence of the Earl of Dalkeith, used by him as a shooting-lodge. 82. Fair as the elves. For the reference see the ballad. Young Tamlane, in Scott's Border Minstrelsy. Canto II.] NOTES 217 83. Dance. The fairies ride in the ballad. Carterhaugh, a plain at the continence of the Ettrick and the Yarrow, the scene of the ballad Young Tamlane. 84. Youthful Baron, Lord Scott. 85. Forest-Sheriff"' s. See Introduction, page ix. 87. OberoiL, the King of the Fairies. 88. She, Harriet, the wife of the Earl of Dalkeith. 106. Long descended lord. "The late Alexander Pringle, Esq. , of Whytbank — whose beautiful seat of the Yair stands on the Tweed, about two miles below Ashestiel, the then resi- dence of the poet. ' ' — Lockhart. 108. Boys, the sons of Mr. Pringle. 113. Wallace, the old hero of Scotland, who fought for her independence against Edward I. Wight, active or warlike. 114. His airy monnd. "There is, on a high mountainous ridge above the farm of Ashestiel, a fosse called Wallace's Trench. ' ' — Scott. 133. Bent, slope. 147. Lone Saint Mary's silent lake. "This beautiful sheet of water forms the reservoir from which the Yarrow takes its source. It is connected with a smaller lake, called the Loch of the Lowes, and surrounded by mountains. In the winter, it is still frequented by flights of wild swans ; hence my friend Mr, Wordsworth's lines : — " ' The swan on sweet St. Mary's lake Floats double, swan and shadow.' "—Scott. 156. Shaggy, literally, hairy, rough. See II., 117. 177. Our Lady's chapel. "The chapel of St. Mary of the Lowes {de lacubus) was situated on the eastern side of the lake, to which it gives name. It was injured by the clan of Scott, in a feud with the Cranstouns ; but continued to be a place of worship during the seventeenth century. The vestiges of the building can now scarcely be traced ; but the burial- ground is still used as a cemetery. 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 situa- tion, it commanded a full view of the lake, with the opposite mountain of Bourhope, belonging, with the lake itself, to Lord Napier. On the left hand is the tower of Dryhope. " — Scott. 186. Sa?ne peaceful hermitage. See Milton's 11 Penseroso, lines 167 ff. 189. Bourhope' s. See above on line 177. 196. Yarrow'' s faded Flower. "Near the lower extremity 218 MAR MI ON [Introduction to of the lake are the ruins of Dryhope Tower, the birthplace of Mary Scc^tt, daughter of Philip Scott of Dryhope, and famous by the traditional name of the Flower of Yarrow. She was married to Walter Scott of Harden, no less renowned for his depredations than his bride for her beauty. Her romantic ap- pellation was, in latter days, with equal justice, conferred on Miss Mary Lilias Scott, the last of the elder branch of the Harden family. The author well remembers the talent and spirit of the latter Flower of Yarrow, though age had then in- jured the charms which procured her the name. The words usually sung to the air of ' Tweedside, ' beginning * What beau- ties does Flora disclose,' were composed in her honour." — Scott. 202. Wizard's grave. " At one corner of the burial-ground of the demolished chapel, but without its precincts, is a small mound, called Binram'' s Corse, where tradition deposits the remains of a necromantic priest, the former tenant of the chap- lainry. His story much resembles that of Ambrosio in The 3Io7ik, and has been made the theme of a ballad by my friend Mr. James Hogg, more poetically designated the Ettrick Shep- herd. To his volume, entitled TJie Mountain Bard, which contains this, and many other legendary stories and ballads of great merit, 1 refer the curious reader." — Scott. 219. Bittern, a wading-bird allied to the heron. 239. LocJi Skene. "Loch Skene is a mountain lake, of con- siderable size, at the head of the Moffat-water. The character of the scenery is uncommonly savage ; and the earn, or Scot- tish 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 precipitate course, falls from a cata- ract of immense height, and gloomy grandeur, called, from its appearance, the 'Gray Mare's Tail.' The ' Gfiant's Grave,' afterwards mentioned, is a sort of trench, which bears that name, a little way from the foot of the cataract. It has the appearance of a battery, designed to command the pass. ' ' — Scott. 259. Linn, here, cataract. Cf. The Lady of the Lake, Canto VI., xviii., 34 : "As Brackliun's chasm, so black and steep, Receives her roaring linn.'''' See also Introduction to Canto I. , line 3. 261. Giant's Grave. See above on line 239. 264. Isis. The river that flow^s into the Thames at Oxford. Marriot was at Oxford when he made his contributions to the Border Minstrelsy. Canto II.] NOTES 219 CANTO II. 1. TJie breeze, etc. x\ll editions of Ilarmion until Mr. Rolfe's placed a full stop after "hold " in line 5, thus making ' ' breeze ' ' the subject of ' ' rolled. ' ' Undoubtedly the sentence is to be carried on by * * it " in line 6. 9. High WhUbi/t) cloister' d jnle. "The Abbey of AVhitby, on the coast of Yorkshire, was founded A. d. 657, in conse- quence of a vow of Oswy, King of iN^orthumberland. It con- tained both monks and nuns of the Benedictine order ; but, contrary to what was usual in such establishments, the abbess was superior to the abbot. The monastery was afterwards ruined by the Danes, and rebuilded by William Percy, in the reign of the Conqueror. There were no nuns there in Henry the Eighth's time, nor long before it. The ruins of Whitby Abbey are very magnificent. ' ' — Scott, 10. Saint CuthberVs Holy Isle. " Lindisfarne, an isle on the coast of Northumberland, was called Holy Island, from the sanctity of its ancient monastery, and from its having been the Episcopal seat of the see of Durham during the early ages of British Christianity. A succession of holy men held that office ; but their merits were swallowed up in the supe- rior fame of St. Cuthbert, who was sixth bishop of Durham, and who bestowed the name of his ' patrimony ' upon the ex- tensive property of the see. The ruins of the monastery upon Holy Island betoken great antiquity. The arches are. in gen- eral, strictly Saxon ; and the pillars w^hich support them, short, strong, and massy. In some places, however, there are pointed Avindows, which indicate that the building has been repaired at a period long subsequent to the original founda- tion. The exterior ornaments of the building, being of a light sandy stone, have been wasted, as described in the text. Lindisfarne is not properly an island, but rather, as the Ven- erable Bede has termed it, a semi-isle ; for, although sur- rounded by the sea at full tide, the ebb leaves the sands dry between it and the opposite coast of Northumberland, from which it is about three miles distant. " — Scott. 30. Benedicite. The beginning of the Latin canticle JBene- dicite omnia opera, " O all ye works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord." 33. Seadog, the seal. 36. Still, ever, always. 39. Dedicated, consecrated. 44. Novice. A nun in the year of her probation was called a 220 MARMION [Canto II. novice. She had not taken the vows as yet, and might return to the world instead of following a holy life. 70. Benedi