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,

Through the stain'd casement gleaming; But, while I marked what next befell,

It seem'd as I were dreaming.
Stepp'd from the crowd a ghostly wight,
In azure gown, with cincture white;
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,
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 propp'd the Virgin in her faint,-
The loved Apostle John!

XVII.

"He stepp'd before the Monarch's chair, And stood with rustic plainness there,

And little reverence made;

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,1

So thrill'd 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,
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,
Like sunbeam on the billow cast,
That glances but, and dies."

MS. "In a low voice-but every tone

Thrill'd through the listener's vein and bone."

MS.-"And if to war thou needs wilt fare
Of wanton wiles and woman's)
Of woman's wiles and wanton

snare."

MS.-"But events, since I cross'd the Tweed, Have undermined my sceptic creed

XVIII.

While Lindesay told his marvel strange,
The twilight was so pale,

He mark'd not Marmion's colour change,
While 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

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,3
What much has changed my sceptic creed,
And made me credit aught."-He staid,
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,

To Lindesay did at length unfold
The tale his village host had told,
At Gifford, 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;
And, by their wild dominion led,
My heart within me burn'd."

So sore was the delirious goad,

I took my steed, and forth I rode,

And, as the moon shone bright and cold,
Soon reach'd 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,"

So hollow, and so faintly blown,
It might be echo of my own.

XX.
"Thus judging, for a little space
I listen'd, ere I left the place;
But scarce could trust my eyes,
Nor yet can think they served me true,
When sudden in the ring I view,
In form distinct of shape and hue,
A mounted champion rise.-
MS.-"In vain," said he, "to rest I laid

My burning limbs, and throbbing head-
Fantastic thoughts return'd;

led,

And, by their wild dominion sway'd, sped,

My heart within me burn'd." MS." And yet it was so low and drear."

I've fought, Lord-Lion, many a day,'

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.

XXI.

"Why need my tongue the issue tell?
We ran our course,-my charger fell ;—
What could he 'gainst the shock of hell ?—
I roll' upon the plain.

High o'er my head, with threatening hand,
The spectre shook his naked brand,—2

Yet did the worst remain :

My dazzled eyes I upward cast,—
Not opening hell itself could blast

Their sight, like what I saw !

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 well believe the last;

For ne'er, from vizor raised, did stare
A human warrior, with a glare

So grimly and so ghast.

Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade; But when to good Saint George I pray'd, (The first time ere 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, 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

1 MS.-"I've been, Lord-Lion, many a day,
In combat single, or mêlée."

MS.-"The spectre shook his naked brand,—
Yet doth the worst remain:
My reeling eyes I upward cast,-
But opening hell could never blast
Their sight, like what I saw."
MS. "I knew the face of one long dead,
Or who to foreign climes hath fled

Such chance had happ'd of old,

When once, near Norham, there did fight
A spectre fell of fiendish might,
In likeness of a Scottish knight,

With Brian Bulmer 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 Rothiemurcus glade,
Or where the sable pine-trees shade
Dark Tomantoul, and Auchnaslaid,
Dromouchty, or Glenmore.*

And yet, whate'er such legends say,
Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay,

On mountain, moor, or plain,
Spotless in faith, in bosom bold,5
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."-
Lord Marmion turn'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.

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;

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,
Spread all the Borough-moor below,2
Upland, and dale, and down:—

A thousand did I say? I ween,3

Thousands on thousands there were seen,
That chequer'd all the heath between
The streamlet and the town;
In crossing ranks extending far,
Forming a camp irregular ;

Oft giving way, where still there stood

Some relics of the old oak wood,
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,
And from the southern Redswire edge,
To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge;

From west to east, from south to north,
Scotland sent all her warriors forth.
Marmion might hear the mingled hum
Of myriads up the mountain come;
The horses' tramp, and tingling clank,
Where chiefs review'd their vassal rank,
And charger's shrilling neigh;
And see the shifting lines advance,

While frequent flash'd, from shield and lance,
The sun's reflected ray.

MS." But, oh! far different change has been,
Since Marmion, from the crown
Of Blackford-hill, upon the scene
Of Scotland's war look'd down."

See Appendix, Note 3 E.

MS." A thousand said the verse? I ween, Thousands on thousands there were seen, That whitened all the heath between.'

4 Here ends the stanza in the MS.

♪ Seven culverins so called, cast by one Borthwick.

XXVII.

Thin curling in the morning air,

The wreaths of failing smoke declare
To embers now the brands decay'd,

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 were Borthwick's Sisters Seven,"
And culverins which France had given.
Ill-omen'd gift! the guns remain

The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain.

XXVIII.

Nor mark'd 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-tail'd, and square,
Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol, there
O'er the pavilions flew.7

Highest and midmost, was descried
The royal banner floating wide;

The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight,
Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone,
Which still in memory is shown,

Yet bent beneath the standard's weight

Whene'er the western wind unroll'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.9

XXIX.

Lord Marmion view'd the landscape bright,-10
He view'd it with a chief's delight,-

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 St. George, were that host mine,
Not power infernal nor divine,
Should once to peace my soul incline,
Till I had dimm'd their armour's shine

In glorious battle-fray!"

6 Each of these feudal ensigns intimated the different rank of those entitled to display them.

7 See Appendix, Note 3 F.

8 MS.-"The standard staff, a mountain pine,

Pitch'd in a huge memorial stone,

That still in monument is shown."

9 See Appendix, Note 3 G.

10 MS.-"Lord Marmion's large dark eye flash'd light,

It kindled with a chief's delight,

For glow'd with martial joy his heart,

As upon battle day."

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 stay'd,
For fairer scene he ne'er survey'd.
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,
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!2
But northward far, with purer blaze,
On Ochil mountains fell the rays,
And as each heathy top they kissed,
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,
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,

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 ;3
Nor Marmion's frown repress'd his glee.

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 :4

"Thus clamour still the war-notes when
The king to mass his way has ta'en,
Or to St. Katharine's of Sienne,"

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.

XXXII.

"Nor less," he said," when looking forth,

I view yon Empress of the North

Sit on her hilly throne;

Her palace's imperial bowers,

Her castle, proof to hostile powers,
Her stately halls and holy towers-7
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 the larum call

The burghers forth to watch and ward,
'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 !8
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,
Her monks the death-mass sing;9
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,
In the succeeding lay.

Marmion.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH.'

ΤΟ

GEORGE ELLIS, Esq.3

Edinburgh.

WHEN dark December glooms the day,
And takes our autumn joys away;
When short and scant the sunbeam throws,
Upon the 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;
When wiry terrier, rough and grim,
And greyhound, with his length of limb,
And pointer, now employ'd no more,
Cumber our parlour's narrow floor;
When in his stall the impatient steed
Is long condemn'd to rest and feed;
When from our snow-encirled home,
Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam,
Since path is none, save that to bring
The needful water from the spring;
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;
When such the country cheer, I come,
Well pleased, to seek our city home;
For converse, and for books, to change
The Forest's melancholy range,
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 stripp'd of forest bowers.3

1 "These Introductory Epistles, though excellent in themselves, are in fact only interruptions to the fable, and, accordingly, nine readers out of ten have perused them separately, either before, or after the poem. In short, the personal appearance of the Minstrel, who, though the Last, is the most charming of all minstrels, is by no means compensated by the idea of an author shorn of his picturesque beard, and writing letters to his intimate friends."-GEORGE ELLIS.

2 This accomplished gentleman, the well-known coadjutor of Mr. Canning and Mr. Frere in the "Antijacobin," and editor of " Specimens of Ancient English Romances," &c., died 10th April 1815, aged 70 years; being succeeded in his estates by his brother, Charles Ellis, Esq, created, in 1827, Lord Seaford.-ED.

True, Caledonia's Queen is changed,
Since on her dusky summit ranged,
Within its steepy limits pent,

By bulwark, line, and battlement,
And flanking towers, and laky flood,
Guarded and garrison'd 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,
A wicket churlishly supplied.
Stern then, and steel-girt was thy brow
Dun-Edin! O, how alter'd now,
When safe amid thy mountain court
Thou sit'st, like Empress at her sport,
And liberal, unconfined, and free,
Flinging thy white arms to the sea,5
For thy dark cloud, with umber'd lower,
That hung o'er cliff, and lake, and tower
Thou gleam'st against the western ray
Ten thousand lines of brighter day.

Not she, the Championess of old,
In Spenser's magic tale enroll'd,
She for the charmed spear renown'd,

Which 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 corslet's grasp relieved,
Free to the sight her bosom heaved;
Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile,
Erst hidden by the aventayle;
And down her shoulders graceful roll'd
Her locks profuse, of paly gold.
They who whilom, in midnight fight,
Had marvell'd at her matchless might,
No less her maiden charms approved,
But looking liked, and liking loved.7
The sight could jealous pangs beguile,
And charm Malbecco's cares a while;
And he, the wandering Squire of Dames,
Forgot his Columbella's claims,

3 See Introduction to canto ii.

4 See Appendix, Note 3 H.

5 Since writing this line, I find I have inadvertently bor rowed it almost verbatim, though with somewhat a different meaning, from a chorus in "Caractacus:"—

"Britain heard the descant bold,

She flung her white arms o'er the sea,
Proud in her leafy bosom to enfold
The freight of harmony."

6 See "The Fairy Queen," book iii. canto ix.

7" For every one her liked, and every one her loved.**

SPENSER, as above