XV

His giant-form, like ruined tower,
Though fallen its muscles' brawny vaunt,
Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt,
Seemed o'er the gaudy scene to lower:
His locks and beard in silver grew;
His eyebrows kept their sable hue.
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-Return to Lindisfarne,

Until my herald come again.
Then rest you in Tantallon Hold;d
Your host shall be the Douglas bold,-
A chief unlike his sires of old.

He wears their motto on his blade,
Their blazon o'er his towers displayed;
Yet loves his sovereign to oppose,
More than to face his country's foes.
And, I bethink me, by Saint Stephen,
But e'en this morn to me was given
A prize, the first-fruits of the war,
Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar,

A bevy of the maids of heaven.
Under your guard, these holy maids
Shall safe return to cloister shades,
And, while they at Tantallon stay,
Requiem for Cochran's soul may say."
And, with the slaughtered 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 swelled well nigh to break:
He turned aside, and down his cheek

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,

battle, with two hundred gentlemen of the name of Douglas. The aged earl, broken-hearted at the calamities of his house and country, retired into a religious house, where he died about a year after the field of Flodden.

a The ruins of Tantallon Castle occupy a high rock projecting into the German Ocean, about two miles east of North Berwick. It was the principal castle of the Douglas family; and when the earl of Angus was banished, in 1527, it continued to hold out against James V.

Angus, my hasty speech forgive!
For sure as doth his spirit live,
As he said of the Douglas old,
I well may say of you,-
That never king did subject hold,
In speech more free, in war more bold,
More tender, and more true:

Forgive me, Douglas, once again."-
And, while the King his hand did strain,
The old man's tears fell down like rain.
To seize the moment Marmion tried,
And whispered to the King aside:

66

Oh! let such tears unwonted plead
For respite short from dubious deed!
A child will weep a bramble's smart,
A maid to see her sparrow part,
A stripling for a woman's heart:
But 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 viewed
And tampered with his changing mood.
"Laugh those that can, weep those that may,"
Thus did the fiery Monarch say,

Southward I march by break of day;
And if within Tantallon strong,
The good Lord Marmion tarries long,
Perchance our meeting next may fall
At Tamworth, in his castle-hall."-
The haughty Marmion felt the taunt,
And answered, grave, the royal vaunt:
"Much honoured were my humble home,
If in its halls King James should come;
But Nottingham has archers good,
And Yorkshire men are stern of mood;
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 turned away,

And to his nobles loud did call,

Lords, to the dance,-a hall! a hall!"e Himself his cloak and sword flung by,

And led Dame Heron gallantly;

• The ancient cry to make room for a dance, or pageant.

And minstrels, at the royal order,

Rung out-" Blue Bonnets o'er the Border."

XVIII

Leave we these revels now, to tell
What to Saint Hilda's maids befell,
Whose galley, as they sailed again
To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en.
Now at Dun-Edin did they bide,
Till James should of their fate decide;
And soon, by his command,

Were gently summoned to prepare
To journey under Marmion's care,
As escort honoured, safe, and fair,
Again to English land.

The Abbess told her chaplet o'er,

Nor knew which Saint she should implore;
For when she thought of Constance, sore
She feared Lord Marmion's mood.
And judge what Clara must have felt!
The sword, that hung in Marmion's belt,
Had drunk De Wilton's blood.
Unwittingly, King James had given,
As guard to Whitby's shades,
The man most dreaded under heaven
By these defenceless maids;
Yet what petition could avail,
Or who would listen to the tale
Of woman, prisoner and nun,
'Mid bustle of a war begun;
They deemed it hopeless to avoid
The convoy of their dangerous guide.

XIX

Their lodging, so the King assigned,
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 concerned the Church's weal,

And health of sinner's soul;

And, with deep charge of secrecy,

She named a place to meet,

Within an open balcony,

That hung from dizzy pitch, and high,
Above the stately street;

To which, as common to each home,
At night they might in secret come.

XX

At night in secret there they came,
The Palmer and the holy dame.

The moon among the clouds rode 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,
Were here wrapt deep in shade:
There on their brows the moonbeam broke,
Through the faint wreaths of silvery smoke,
And on the casements played.
And other light was none to see,
Save torches gliding far,
Before some chieftain of degree,
Who left the royal revelry

To bowne him for the war.-
A solemn scene the Abbess chose;
A solemn hour, her secret to disclose.

XXI

O, holy Palmer!" she began,

For sure he must be sainted man,
Whose blessèd 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 who wed above!
De Wilton and Lord Marmion wooed
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,f
When he came here on Simnel's part;

And only cowardice did restrain

His rebel aid on Stokefield's plain,

And down he threw his glove:-the thing
Was tried, as wont, before the King;
Where frankly did De Wilton own,

That Swart in Guelders he had known;

f A German general, who commanded the auxiliaries sent by the duchess of Burgundy with Lambert Simnel. He was defeated and killed at Stokefield, 6th June, 1487. The name of this German general is preserved by that of the field of battle, which is called after him, Swart-moor.

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 burned!
For in his packet there were laid
Letters that claimed disloyal aid,
And proved King Henry's cause betrayed.
His fame, thus blighted, in the field
He strove to clear, by spear and shield ;-
To clear his fame in vain he strove,
For 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?

XXII

"His squire, who now De Wilton saw
As recreant doomed to suffer law,
Repentant, owned in vain,

That, while he had the scrolls in care,
A stranger maiden, passing fair,

Had drenched him with a beverage rare:-
His words no faith could gain.
With Clare alone he credence won,
Who, rather than wed Marmion,
Did to Saint Hilda's shrine repair,
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 Whitby's shade,
No, not since Saxon Edelfled;

Only one trace of earthly strain,
That for her lover's loss
She cherishes a sorrow vain,

And murmurs at the cross.

And then her heritage:-it goes
Along the banks of Tame;

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;

It was early necessary for those who felt themselves obliged to believe in the divine judgment being enunciated in the trial by duel, to find salvos for the strange and obviously precarious chances of the combat. Various curious evasive shifts, used by those who took up an unrighteous quarrel, were supposed sufficient to convert it into a just one.