Whom royal James himself had crown'd,
And on his temples placed the round

Of Scotland's ancient diadem:
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 swore1
Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more,
And strictly hath forbid resort
From England to his royal court;
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,
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 Marmion'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.
The right hand path they now decline,
And trace against the stream the Tyne.

When deadliest hatred fired its foes, The vengeful Douglas bands.

XI.

Crichtoun! though now thy miry court
But pens the lazy steer and sheep,
Thy turrets rude, and totter'd Keep,
Have been the minstrel's loved resort.
Oft have I traced, within thy fort,

Of mouldering shields the mystic sense," Scutcheons of honour, or pretence, Quarter'd in old armorial sort,

Remains of rude magnificence. Nor wholly yet had time defaced

Thy lordly gallery fair;

Nor yet the stony cord unbraced,
Whose twisted knots, with roses laced,
Adorn thy ruin'd stair.

Still rises unimpair'd 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.
And, shuddering, still may we explore,
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 show'd,
As through its portal Marmion rode;
But yet 'twas melancholy state
Received him at the outer gate;
For none were in the Castle then,
But women, boys, or aged men.
With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing danie,
To welcome noble Marmion, came;
Her son, a stripling twelve years old,
Proffer'd the Baron'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,7
Long may his Lady look in vain!
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.

MS." But the huge mass could well oppose." MS.-"Of many a mouldering shield the sense." The pit, or prison vault.-See Appendix, Note 2 Z. 7 See Appendix, Note 3 A.

8 MS.-"Well might his gentle Lady mourn, Doom'd ne'er to see her Lord's return."

XIII.
And here two days did Marmion rest,
With 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.
Perchance he would not foeman's eye
Upon his gathering host should pry,
Till full prepared was every band
To march against the English land.

Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's

wit

Oft cheer the Baron's moodier fit;
And, in his turn, he knew to prize

Lord Marmion's powerful mind, and wise,-
Train'd in the lore of Rome and Greece,
And policies of war and peace.1

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 ;3
And, closer question'd, thus he told
A tale, which chronicles of old
In Scottish story have enroll'd :-

XV.

Sir David Lindesay's Tale. "Of all the palaces so fair,*

Built for the royal dwelling,
In Scotland, far beyond compare
Linlithgow is excelling ;5

And in its park in jovial June,
How sweet the merry linnet's tune,
How blithe the blackbird's lay!
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.7
Woe to the traitors, who could bring
The princely boy against his King!
Still in his conscience burns the sting.
In offices as strict as Lent,

King James's June is ever spent.8

XVI.

"When 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 sayingFor now the year brought round again? The day the luckless king was slain

JEFFREY.

The sport of hunting was also followed with success in the neighbourhood, from which circumstance it probably arises that the ancient arms of the city represent a black greyhound bitch tied to a tree.... The situation of Linlithgow Palace is eminently beautiful. It stands on a promontory of some elevation, which advances almost into the midst of the lake. The form is that of a square court, composed of buildings of four stories high, with towers at the angles. The fronts within the square, and the windows, are highly ornamented, and the size of the rooms, as well as the width and character of the staircases, are upon a magnificent scale. One banquet-room is ninety-four feet long, thirty feet wide, and thirty-three feet high, with a gallery for music. The king's wardrobe or dress

"Where Scotia's kings of other years"

had their royal home.

"Linlithgow, distinguished by the combined strength and beauty of its situation, must have been early selected as a royal residence. David, who bought the title of saint by his liberality to the Church, refers several of his charters to his town of Linlithgow; and in that of Holyrood expressly bestows on the new monastery all the skins of the rams, ewes, and lambs, belonging to his castle of Linlitcu, which shall die during the year.... The convenience afforded for the sport of falconry, which was so great a favourite during the feudal ages, was probably one cause of the attachment of the ancient Scottish monarchs to Linlithgow and its fine lake.

to have a delicious prospect on three sides, and is one of the most enviable boudoirs we have ever seen."-SIR WALTER SCOTT's Miscellaneous Prose Works, vol. vii. p. 382, &c.

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,2
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."

1 MS.-"In a low voice-but every tone
Thrill'd through the listener's vein and bone."

2 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.-

4 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."

5 MS." And yet it was so low and drear."

I've fought, Lord-Lion, many a day,1

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'd 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, fled3

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."

2 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,
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,
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;4

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.

1 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.

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

♦ Here ends the stanza in the MS.

5 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,—1
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 rans 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."