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.

V.

"But see!-what makes this armour here?"For in her path he lay

Targe, corslet, helm;- she view'd them near.-
"The breast-plate pierced!-Ay, much I fear,
Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's spear,
That hath made fatal entrance here,

As these dark blood-gouts say.-
Thus Wilton!-Oh! not corslet's ward,
Not truth, as diamond pure and hard,
Could be thy manly bosom's guard,
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
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:
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 word delay'd,
And modest blush, and bursting sigh,
And question kind, and fond reply:-

VI.

DE WILTON'S HISTORY.

"Forget we that disastrous day,
When senseless in the lists I lay.
Thence dragg'd-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,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 return'd 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 attention wrought,
With him I left my native strand,
And, in a Palmer's weeds array'd,
My hated name and form to shade,
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.
My friend at length fell sick, and said,
God would remove him soon:
And, while upon his dying bed,
He begg'd of me a boon--

If e'er my deadliest enemy
Beneath my brand should conquer'd 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,
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 which 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.
A chance most wondrous did provide,
That I should be that Baron's guide-
I will not name his name !-
Vengeance to God alone belongs;
But, when I think on all my wrongs,
My blood is liquid flame!
And ne'er the time shall I forget,
When, in a Scottish hostel set,

Dark looks we did exchange:

What were his thoughts I cannot tell;
But in my bosom 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;

Which wrought upon his moody sprite, And sent him armed forth by night.

I borrow'd steed and mail,

And weapons, from his sleeping band;
And, passing from a postern door,
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.-

O good old man! even from the grave,
Thy spirit could thy master save:
If I had slain my foeman, ne'er
Had Whitby's Abbess, in her fear,
Given to my hand this packet dear,
Of power to clear my injured fame,
And vindicate De Wilton's name.-
Perchance you heard the Abbess tell
Of the strange pageantry of Hell,
That broke our secret speech--
It rose from the infernal shade,
Or featly was some juggle 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
The tide of fight on Otterburne,
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.
And now I watch my armour here,
By law of arms, till midnight's near;
Then, once again a belted knight,
Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of light.

X.

"There soon again we meet, my Clare!
This Baron means to guide thee there:
Douglas reveres his King's command,
Else would he take thee from his band.
And there thy kinsman, Surrey, too,
Will give De Wilton justice due.
Now meeter far for martial broil,
Firmer my limbs, and strung by toil,

Once more ""O Wilton! must we then

Risk new-found happiness 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? -
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;
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!"

1 Where James encamped before taking post on Flodden.

Two veterans of the Douglas' wars,

Though two grey priests were there, And each a blazing torch held high, You could not by their blaze desery

The chapel's carving fair.

Amid that dim and smoky light, Chequering the silvery moon-shine 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
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
Upon the huge and sweeping brand
Which wont of yore, in battle fray,
His foeman's limbs to shred away,
As wood-knife lops the sapling spray. 2
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.

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!

1 The well-known Gawain Douglas, Bishop of Dunkeld, son of Archibald Bell-the-Cat, Earl of Angus. He was author of a Scottish metrical version of the Eneid, and of many other poetical pieces of great merit. He had not at this period attained the mitre.

2 Angus had strength and personal activity correspond ing to his courage. Spens of Kilspindie, a favourite of James IV., having spoken of him lightly, the Earl met him while hawking, and, compelling him to single ctm. bat, at one blow cut asunder his thigh-bone, and killed hitn on the spot. But ere he could obtain James's pardon for this slaughter, Angus was obliged to yield his castle of Hermitage, in exchange for that of Bothwell, which was some diminution to the family greatness. The sword with which he struck so remarkable a blow, was presented by his descendant, James, Earl of Morton, afterwards Regent of Scotland, to Lord Lindesay of the Byres, when he defled Bothwell to single combat on Carberry-hill-See Introduction to the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.

Then Douglas struck him with his blade:

"Saint Michael and Saint Andrew aid,

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-
"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, Upon them bravely-do thy worst: And foul fall him that blenches first!"

XIII.

Not far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troop array
To Surrey's camp to ride;
He had safe conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,
And Douglas gave a guide:

The ancient Earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara on her palfrey place,
And whisper'd in an under tone,

"Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown."The train from out the castle drew,

But Marmion stopp'd to bid adieu :

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 Q'ercame the ashen hue of age:

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."-1

Lord Marmion turn'd,-well was his need,
And dash'd the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung,
The ponderous grate behind him rung:
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

XV.

The steed along the drawbridge flics,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Nor lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim:

And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts, and turns with clenched hand,
And shout of loud defiance pours,

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 unworthy of the name,A letter forged! Saint Jude to speed!

"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 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-stoneThe 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,
And This to me!" he said,-
"An '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,
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!

1 This ebullition of violence in the potent Earl of Angus is not without its example in the real history of the house of Douglas, whose chieftains possessed the ferocity, with the horoic virtues, of a savage state. The most curious instance occurred in the case of Maclellan, Tutor of Bombay, who, having refused to acknowledge the pre-eminence claimed by Douglas over the gentlemen and Barons of Galloway, was seized and imprisoned by the Earl, in his castle of the Thrieve, on the borders of Kirkcudbrightshire. Sir Patrick Gray, commander of King James the Second's guard, was uncle to the Tutor of Bombay, and obtained from the King a "sweet letter of supplication," praying the Earl to deliver his prisoner into Gray's hand. When Sir Patrick arrived at the castle, he was received with all the honour due to a favourite servant of the King's household; but while he was at dinner, the Earl, who suspected his errand, caused his prisoner to be led forth and beheaded. After dinner, Sir Patrick presented the King's letter to the Earl, who received it with great affectation of reverence; "and took him by the hand, and led him forth to the green, where the gentleman was lying dead, and showed him the manner, and said, 'Sir Patrick, you are come a little too late; yonder is your sister's son lying, but he wants the head; take his body, and do with it what you will.'-Sir Patrick answered again, with a sore heart, and said My lord, if yo have taken from him his head, dispone upon the body as ye please; and with that called for his horse, and leaped thereon; and when he was on horseback, he said to the Earl on this manner. My lord, if I live, you shall be rewarded for your labours, that you have used at this time, according to your demerits.'

"At this saying the Earl was highly offended, and cried for horse. Sir Patrick, seeing the Earl's fury, spurred his horse, but he was chased near Edinburgh ere they left him; and had it not been his led horse was so tried and good, he had been taken."-PITSCOTTIE'S History, p. 39. 2 Lest the reader should partake of the Earl's astonishment, and consider the crime as inconsistent with the manners of the period. I have to remind him of the numerous forgeries (partly executed by a female assistant) devised by Kobert of Artois, to forward his suit against the Countess Matilda; which, being detected, occasioned his flight into England, and proved the remote cause of