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With falcons broider'd on each breast,
Attended on their lord's behest.
Each, chosen for an archer good,
Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood;
Each one a six-foot bow could bend,
And far a cloth-yard shaft could send;
Each held a boar-spear tough and strong,
And at their belts their quivers rung.
Their dusty palfreys, and array,
Show'd they had march'd a weary way.

IX.

'Tis meet that I should tell you now,
How fairly arm'd, and order'd how,
The soldiers of the guard,
With musket, pike, and morion,
To welcome noble Marmion,

Stood in the Castle-yard;

Minstrels and trumpeters were there, The gunner held his linstock yare, For welcome-shot prepared: Enter'd the train, and such a clang,1 As then through all his turrets rang, Old Norham never heard.

X.

The guards their morrice-pikes advanced,
The trumpets flourish'd brave,
The cannon from the ramparts glanced,
And thundering welcome gave.
A blithe salute, in martial sort,

The minstrels well might sound,
For, as Lord Marmion cross'd the court,
He scatter'd angels round.
"Welcome to Norham, Marmion!

Stout heart, and open hand!

Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan,
Thou flower of English land!"

XI.

Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck,
With silver scutcheon round their neck,
Stood on the steps of stone,

By which you reach the donjon gate,
And there, with herald pomp and state,
They hail'd Lord Marmion :2
They hail'd him Lord of Fontenaye,
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye,

Of Tamworth tower and town;8

And he, their courtesy to requite,

Gave them a chain of twelve marks' weight, All as he lighted down.

1 MS-" And when he enter'd, such a clang, As through the echoing turrets rang."

"The most picturesque of all poets, Homer, is frequently minute, to the utmost degree, in the description of the dresses and accoutrements of his personages. These particulars, often inconsiderable in themselves, have the effect of giving truth and identity to the picture, and assist the mind in realizing

"Now, largesse, largesse, Lord Marmion, Knight of the crest of gold!

A blazon'd shield, in battle won,
Ne'er guarded heart so bold."

XII.

They marshall'd him to the Castle-hall,
Where the guests stood all aside,
And loudly flourish'd the trumpet-call,
And the heralds loudly cried,
"Room, lordings, room for Lord Marmion,
With the crest and helm of gold!
Full well we know the trophies won
In the lists at Cottiswold:
There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove
'Gainst Marmion's force to stand;
To him he lost his lady-love,
And to the King his land.
Ourselves beheld the listed field,

A sight both sad and fair;

We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield,"
And saw his saddle bare;

We saw the victor win the crest

He wears with worthy pride;
And on the gibbet-tree, reversed,

His foeman's scutcheon tied.
Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight!
Room, room, ye gentles gay,
For him who conquer'd in the right,
Marmion of Fontenaye!"

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For lady's suit, and minstrel's strain,
By knight should ne'er be heard in vain.

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XIV.

Now, good Lord Marmion," Heron says, "Of your fair courtesy,

I pray you bide some little space

In this poor tower with me.

Here may you keep your arms from rust, May breathe your war-horse well; Seldom hath pass'd a week but giust

Or feat of arms befell:

The Scots can rein a mettled steed;
And love to couch a spear;-
Saint George! a stirring life they lead,
That have such neighbours near.
Then stay with us a little space,
Our northern wars to learn;
I pray you, for your lady's grace!"
Lord Marmion's brow grew stern.

XV.

The Captain mark'd his alter'd look,
And gave a squire the sign;
A mighty wassail-bowl he took,
And crown'd it high in wine.
"Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion:
But first I pray thee fair,'

Where hast thou left that page of thine,
That used to serve thy cup of wine,.
Whose beauty was so rare ?
When last in Raby towers we met,
The boy I closely eyed,

And often mark'd his cheeks were wet,
With tears he fain would hide:

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His was no rugged horse-boy's hand,
To burnish shield or sharpen brand,
Or saddle battle-steed;

But meeter seem'd for lady fair,
To fan her cheek, or curl her hair,

Or through embroidery, rich and rare,
The slender silk to lead:

His skin was fair, his ringlets gold,
His bosom-when he sigh'd,
The russet doublet's rugged fold
Could scarce repel its pride!

Say, hast thou given that lovely youth

To serve in lady's bower?

Or was the gentle page, in sooth,
A gentle paramour?"

1 MS.-"And let me pray thee fair."

2 MS.-"To rub a shield, or sharp a brand."

8 MS.-"Lord Marmion ill such jest could brook,

He roll'd his kindling eye;

Fix'd on the Knight his dark haught look,
And answer'd stern and high:

'That page thou did'st so closely eye,

So fair of hand and skin,

Is come, I ween, of lineage high,

And of thy lady's kin.

XVI.

Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest;
He roll'd his kindling eye,

With pain his rising wrath suppress'd,
Yet made a calm reply:
"That boy thou thought'st so goodly fair,
He might not brook the northern air.
More of his fate if thou wouldst learn,

I left him sick in Lindisfarn: 4
Enough of him.-But, Heron, say,
Why does thy lovely lady gay
Disdain to grace the hall to-day?
Or has that dame, so fair and sage,
Gone on some pious pilgrimage?"-
He spoke in covert scorn, for fame
Whisper'd light tales of Heron's dame."

XVII.

Unmark'd, at least unreck'd, the taunt,
Careless the Knight replied,"
"No bird, whose feathers gaily flaunt,
Delights in cage to bide:

Norham is grim and grated close,
Hemm'd in by battlement and fosse,
And many a darksome tower;
And better loves my lady bright
To sit in liberty and light,

In fair Queen Margaret's bower.
We hold our greyhound in our hand,

Our falcon on our glove;

But where shall we find leash or band,

For dame that loves to rove?

Let the wild falcon soar her swing,

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She'll stoop when she has tired her wing."-7

XVIII.

"Nay, if with Royal James's bride

The lovely Lady Heron bide,

Behold me here a messenger,
Your tender greetings prompt to bear;
For, to the Scottish court address'd,

I journey at our King's behest,
And pray you, of your grace, provide
For me, and mine, a trusty guide.

I have not ridden in Scotland since

James back'd the cause of that mock prince, Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit,

Who on the gibbet paid the cheat.

Then did I march with Surrey's power,

What time we razed old Ayton tower,"-8

That youth, so like a paramour,
Who wept for shame and pride,
Was erst, in Wilton's lordly bower,
Sir Ralph de Wilton's bride.""

4 See Note 2 B, canto ii. stauza 1.

MS.-"Whisper'd strange things of Heron's dama."

6 MS." The captain gay replied."

7 MS." She'll stoop again when tired her wing."

8 See Appendix, Note N.

XIX. "For such-like need, my lord, I trow, Norham can find you guides enow; For here be some have prick'd as far, On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar; Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan's ale, And driven the beeves of Lauderdale; Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods, And given them light to set their hoods."—1

XX.

"Now, in good sooth," Lord Marmion cried,

"Were I in warlike wise to ride,
A better guard I would not lack,
Than your stout forayers at my back;
But, as in form of peace I go,
A friendly messenger, to know,
Why through all Scotland, near and far,
Their King is mustering troops for war,
The sight of plundering Border spears
Might justify suspicious fears,
And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil,
Break out in some unseemly broil:
A herald were my fitting guide;
Or friar, sworn in peace to bide;
Or pardoner, or travelling priest,
Or strolling pilgrim, at the least."

XXI.

The Captain mused a little space,
And pass'd his hand across his face.

"Fain would I find the guide you want,

But ill may spare a pursuivant,
The only men that safe can ride
Mine errands on the Scottish side:
And though a bishop built this fort,
Few holy brethren here resort;
Even our good chaplain, as I ween,
Since our last siege, we have not seen:
The mass he might not sing or say,
Upon one stinted meal a-day;

So, safe he sat in Durham aisle,

And pray'd for our success the while.
Our Norham vicar, woe betide,

Is all too well in case to ride;

The priest of Shoreswood-he could rein
The wildest war-horse in your train;
But then, no spearman in the hall
Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl.
Friar John of Tillmouth were the man:
A blithesome brother at the can,
A welcome guest in hall and bower,
He knows each castle, town, and tower,
In which the wine and ale is good,
"Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood.
But that good man, as ill befalls,
Hath seldom left our castle walls,

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Since, on the vigil of St. Bede,
In evil hour, he cross'd the Tweed,
To teach Dame Alison her creed.
Old Bughtrig found him with his wife
And John, an enemy to strife,
Sans frock and hood, fled for his life.
The jealous churl hath deeply swore,
That, if again he venture o'er,
He shall shrievo penitent no more.
Little he loves such risks, I know;
Yet, in your guard, perchance will go."

XXII.

Young Selby, at the fair hall-board,
Carved to his uncle and that lord,
And reverently took up the word.
"Kind uncle, woe were we each one,
If harm should hap to brother Jolin.
He is a man of mirthful speech,
Can many a game and gambol teach:
Full well at tables can he play,
And sweep at bowls the stake away.

None can a lustier carol bawl,

The needfullest among us all,

When time hangs heavy in the hall,

And snow comes thick at Christmas tide,
And we can neither hunt, nor ride

A foray on the Scottish side.

The vow'd revenge of Bughtrig rude,
May end in worse than loss of hood.
Let Friar John, in safety, still
In chimney-corner snore his fill,
Roast hissing crabs, or flagons swill:
Last night, to Norham there came one,
Will better guide Lord Marmion."-
"Nephew," quoth Heron, " by my fay,
Well hast thou spoke; say forth thy say.”—

XXIII.

"Here is a holy Palmer come,
From Salem first, and last from Rome;
One, that hath kiss'd the blessed tomb,
And visited each holy shrine,
In Araby and Palestine;
On hills of Armenie hath been,
Where Noah's ark may yet be seen;
By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod,
Which parted at the prophet's rod;
In Sinai's wilderness he saw
The Mount, where Israel heard the law,
'Mid thunder-dint, and flashing levin,
And shadows, mists, and darkness, given.
He shows Saint James's cockle-shell,
Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell;

And of that Grot where Olives nod,
Where, darling of each heart and eye,
From all the youth of Sicily,

Saint Rosalie retired to God."

4 MS.-"Retired to God St. Rosalie." 6 See Appendix, Note Q.

XXIV. "To stout Saint George of Norwich merry, Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury, Cuthbert of Durham and Saint Bede, For his sins' pardon hath he pray'd. He knows the passes of the North, And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth; Little he eats, and long will wake, And drinks but of the stream or lake. This were a guide o'er moor and dale; But, when our John hath quaff'd his ale, As little as the wind that blows, And warms itself against his nose,' Kens he, or cares, which way he goes."

XXV.

"Gramercy!" quoth Lord Marmion,
"Full loth were I, that Friar John,
That venerable man, for me,
Were placed in fear or jeopardy.
If this same Palmer will me lead
From hence to Holy-Rood,
Like his good saint, I'll pay his meed,
Instead of cockle-shell, or bead,

With angels fair and good.
I love such holy ramblers; still
They know to charm a weary hill,
With song, romance, or lay:
Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest,
Some lying legend, at the least,
They bring to cheer the way."

XXVI.

"Ah! noble sir," young Selby said,

And finger on his lip he laid,

2

"This man knows much, perchance e'en more
Than he could learn by holy lore.

Still to himself he's muttering,
And shrinks as at some unseen thing.
Last night we listen'd at his cell;

Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell,
He murmur'd on till morn, howe'er
No living mortal could be near.
Sometimes I thought I heard it plain,
As other voices spoke again.

I cannot tell-I like not

Friar John hath told us it is wrote,

No conscience clear, and void of wrong,
Can rest awake, and pray so long.

IMS." And with metheglin warm'd his nose,
As little as," &c.

?" This poem has faults of too great magnitude to be passed without notice. There is a debasing lowness and vulgarity in some passages, which we think must be offensive to every reader of delicacy, and which are not, for the most part, reacemed by any vigour or picturesque effect. The venison pasties, we think, are of this description; and this commemoration of Sir Hugh Heron's troopers, who

'Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan's ale,' &c. The long account of Friar John, though not without merit,

Himself still sleeps before his beads

Have mark'd ten aves, and two creeds."—"

XXVII.

"Let pass," quoth Marmion; "by my fay,

This man shall guide me on my way,
Although the great arch-fiend and he
Had sworn themselves of company.
So please you, gentle youth, to call
This Palmer to the Castle-hall."
The summon'd Palmer came in place;
His sable cowl o'erhung his face;
In his black mantle was he clad,
With Peter's keys, in cloth of red,

On his broad shoulders wrought;
The scallop shell his cap did deck;
The crucifix around his neck

Was from Loretto brought;
His sandals were with travel tore,
Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore;
The faded palm-branch in his hand
Show'd pilgrim from the Holy Land."

XXVIII.

When as the Palmer came in hall,
Nor lord, nor knight, was there more tall,
Or had a statelier step withal,

Or look'd more high and keen;

For no saluting did he wait,
But strode across the hall of state,
And fronted Marmion where he sate,6

As he his peer had been.

But his gaunt frame was worn with toil;
His cheek was sunk, alas the while!
And when he struggled at a smile,

His eye look'd haggard wild:
Poor wretch! the mother that him bare,
If she had been in presence there,
In his wan face, and sun-burn'd hair,
She had not known her child.
Danger, long travel, want, or woe,

Soon change the form that best we know—
For deadly fear can time outgo,

And blanch at once the hair;

Hard toil can roughen form and face,7

And want can quench the eye's bright grace,

Nor does old age a wrinkle trace

More deeply than despair.

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And now the midnight draught of sleep,
Where wine and spices richly steep,
In massive bowl of silver deep,

The page presents on knee.
Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest,
The Captain pledged his noble guest,
The cup went through among the rest,5
Who drain'd it merrily;
Alone the Palmer pass'd it by,
Though Selby press'd him courteously.
This was a sign the feast was o'er;
It hush'd the merry wassel roar,"

The minstrels ceased to sound. Soon in the castle nought was heard, But the slow footstep of the guard, Pacing his sober round.

XXXI.

With early dawn Lord Marmion rose:
And first the chapel doors unclose;
Then, after morning rites were done,
(A hasty mass from Friar John,7)

And knight and squire had broke their fast,
On rich substantial repast,

1 MS.-"Happy whom none such wocs befall.”

2 MS.-" So he would ride with morning tide."
3 See Appendix, Noto T.
4 Ibid. Note U.
MS.-"The cup pass'd round among the rest."
6 MS.-"Soon died the merry wassel roar."

7 "In Catholic countries, in order to reconcile the pleasures of the great with the observances of religion, it was common, when a party was bent for the chase, to celebrate mass, abridged and maimed of its rites, called a hunting-mass, the brevity of which was designed to correspond with the impatience of the audience."-Note to " The Abbot." New Edit. 8 MS." Slow they roll'd forth upon the air.' See Appendix, Note V.

Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse:
Then came the stirrup-cup in course:
Between the Baron and his host,

No point of courtesy was lost;

High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid,
Solemn excuse the Captain made,
Till, filing from the gate, had pass'd
That noble train, their Lord the last.
Then loudly rung the trumpet call;
Thunder'd the cannon from the wall,
And shook the Scottish shore;
Around the castle eddied slow,
Volumes of smoke as white as snow,
And hid its turrets hoar;
Till they roll'd forth upon the air,"
And met the river breezes there,
Which gave again the prospect fair.

Marmion.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND

TO THE

REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M.

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. THE scenes are desert now, and bare, Where flourish'd once a forest fair,9 When these waste glens with copse were lined, And peopled with the hart and hind. Yon Thorn-perchance whose prickly spears Have fenced him for three hundred years, While fell around his green compeers Yon lonely Thorn, would he could tell The changes of his parent dell,10 Since he, so grey and stubborn now, Waved in each breeze a sapling bough; Would he could tell how deep the shade A thousand mingled branches made; How broad the shadows of the oak, How clung the rowan to the rock, And through the foliage show'd his head, With narrow leaves and berries red;

10"The second epistle opens again with 'chance and change; but it cannot be denied that the mode in which it is introduced is now and poetical. The comparison of Ettrick Fo rest, now open and naked, with the state in which it once was -covered with wood, the favourite resort of the royal hunt, and the refuge of daring outlaws-leads the poet to imagino an ancient thorn gifted with the powers of reason, and relating the various scenes which it has witnessed during a period of three hundred years. A melancholy train of fancy is natu rally encouraged by the idea."-Monthly Review.

11 Mountain-ash.

MS.-"How broad the ash his shadows flung, How to the rock the rowan clung."

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