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

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.

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.5

6

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,
She'll stoop when she has tired her wing.”_

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:
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 ?”

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

1 MS.--" And let me

pray

thee fair." 9 MS.-" To rub a shield, or sharp a brand." a 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 woen, of lineage high,

And of thy lady's kin.

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 stanza 1. * MS.--" Whisper'd strange things of Heron's dame.' 6 MS.--" The captain gay replied." 7 MS. -"She'll stoop again when tired her wing."

See Appendix, Note N.

XIX. For such-like need, my lor!, 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 boods."

Since, on the vigil of St. Bede,
In evil hour, he crosa'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 shrieve penitent no more.
Little he loves such risks, I know;
Yet, in your guard, perchance will go."

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.”

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 John. 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."

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,

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.5

I See Appendix, Note ().

? Ibid. Note P. 8 MS.-" And of the olives' shaded cell."

4 MS.-" Retired to God St. Rosalie."

pendix, Note Q.

5 See

Himself still sleeps before his beads
Have mark'd ten aves, and two creeds.”_3

" by my

XXIV.
6. 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.”_?

1

XXVII.
_“ Let pass,” quoth Marmion;

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 Palmer4 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.5

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.'

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XXVI.
« Ah! noble sir,” young Selby said,
And finger on his lip he laid,
“ 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 it not-
Friar John hath told us it is wrote,
No conscience clear, and void of wrong,
Can rest awake, and pray so long.

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,

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, waut, 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,
And want can quench the eye's bright grace,
Nor does old age a wrinkle trace

More deeply than despair.

1 MS.-" And with metheglin warm'd his nose,

offends in the same sort, nor can we casily conceive, how any As little as," &c.

one could venture, in a serious poem, to speak of

the wind that blows, 2 " This poem has faults of too great magnitude to be pas

And warms itself against his nose.'"_ JEFFREY.] sed without notice. There is a debasing lowness and vulgarity

3 See Appendix, Note R.

4 Ibid. Note S. in some passages, which we think must be offensive to every reader of delicacy, and which are not, for the most part, re 8 " The first presentment of the mysterious Palmer is laud deemned by any vigour or picturesque effect. The venison able."-JEFFREY. pasties, we think, are of this description; and this commemo 6 MS._" And near Lord Marmion took his seat." ration of Sir Hugh Heron's troopers, who

7 MS.-"Hard toil can alter form and face,

roughen youthful grace, Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan's ale,' &c.

And want can quench

} the eyes of grace. The long account of Friar John, though not without merit,

dim

Happy whom none of these befall,

Lord Marmion's bugles blew to borse : But this poor Palmer knew them all.

Then came the stirrup-cup in course :

Between the Baron and his host,
XXIX.

No point of courtesy was lost;
Lord Marmion then his boon did ask;

High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid, The Palmer took on him the task,

Solemn excuse the Captain made, So he would march with morning tide,

Till, filing from the gate, had pass'd To Scottish court to be his guide.

That noble train, their Lord the last. “ But I have solemn vows to pay,

Then loudly rung the trumpet call; And may not linger by the way,

Thunder'd the cannon from the wall, To fair St. Andrews bound,

And shook the Scottish shore; Within the ocean-care to prav,

Around the castle eddied slow, Where good Saint Rule his holy lay,

Volumes of smoke as white as snow, From midnight to the dawn of day,

And hid its turrets hoar; Sung to the billows' sound ;3

Till they rollid forth upon the air, Thence to Saint Fillan's blessed well,

And met the river breezes there,
Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel,

Which gave again the prospect fair.
And the crazed brain restore:
Saint Mary grant, that cave or spring
Could back to peace my bosom bring,
Or bid it throb no more!"

Marmion.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND.

TO THB

XXX.
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,

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.

REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A M.

Ashestid, Ettrick Forest.
The scenes are desert now, and bare,
Where flourish'd once a forest fair,
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, 1o
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'l to the rock,
And through the foliage show'd his head,
With narrow leaves and berries red;

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

1 MS.-" Happy whom none such woes befall."

10 " The second epistle opens again with 'chance and change;' 2 MS._" So he would ride with morning tide."

but cannot be denied that the mode in which it is intro3 See Appendix, Note T. 4 Ibid. Note U.

duced is new and poetical. The comparison of Ettrick Fo

rest, now open and naked, with the state in which it once was 5 MS.—“The cup pass'd round among the rest."

-covered with wood, the favourite resort of the royal hunt, 6 MS.-—“Soon died the merry wassel roar."

and the refuge of daring outlaws-leads the poet to imagine 7 " In Catholic countries, in order to reconcile the plea- an ancient thorn gifted with the powers of reason, and relating sures of the great with the observances of religion, it was com- the various scenes which it has witnessed during a period of mon, when a party was bent for the chase, to celebrate mass, three hundred years. A melancholy train of fancy is natuabridged and maimed of its rites, called a hunting-mass, the rally encouraged by the idea."- Monthly Review. brevity of which was designed to correspond with the impatience of the audience."- Note to The Abbot." New Edit.

11 Mountain-ash. 8 MS.--"Slow they rolld forth upon the air."

MS.-" How broad the ash his shadows flung, # See Appendix, Note V.

How to the rock the rowan clung."

What pines on every mountain sprung,
O'er every dell what birches hung,
In every breeze what aspens shook,
What alders shaded every brook!

“ Here, in my shade," methinks he'd say, “ The mighty stag at noon-tide lay: The wolf I've seen, a fiercer game, (The neighbouring dingle bears his name,) With lurching step around me prowl, And stop, against the moon to howl; The mountain-boar, on battle set, His tusks upon my stem would whet; While doe, and roe, and red-deer good, Have bounded by, through gay green-wood. Then oft, from Newark's' riven tower, Sallied a Scottish monarch's power: A thousand vassals muster'd round, With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound; And I might see the youth intent, Guard every pass with crossbow bent; And through the brake the rangers stalk, And falc'ners hold the ready hawk; And foresters, in green-wood trim, Lead in the leash the gazehounds grim, Attentive, as the bratchet's? bay From the dark covert drove the prey, To slip them as he broke away. The startled quarry bounds amain, As fast the gallant greyhounds strain; Whistles the arrow from the bow, Answers the harquebuss below; While all the rocking hills reply, To hoof-clang, hound, and hunters' cry, And bugles ringing lightsomely."

Nor dull, between each merry chase, Pass'd by the intermitted space; For we had fair resource in store, In Classic and in Gothic lore: We mark'd each memorable scene, And held poetic talk between; Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along, But had its legend or its song. All silent now-for now are still Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill !4 No longer, from thy mountains dun, The yeoman hears the well-known gun, And while his honest heart glows warm, At thought of his paternal farm, Round to his mates a brimmer fills, And drinks, “ The Chieftain of the Hills !” No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers, Trip o'er the walks, or tend the flowers, Fair as the eives whom Janet saw By moonlight dance on Carterhaugh; No youthful Baron 's left to grace The Forest-Sheriff's lonely chase, And ape, in manly step and tone, The majesty of Oberon: 5 And she is gone, whose lovely face Is but her least and lowest grace;6 Though if to Sylphid Queen 'twere given, To show our earth the charms of Heaven, She could not glide along the air, With form more light, or face more fair. No more the widow's deafen'd ear Grows quick that lady's step to hear: At noontide she expects her not, Nor busies her to trim the cot; Pensive she turns her humming wheel, Or pensive cooks her orphans' meal; Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread, The gentle hand by which they're fed.

Of such proud huntings, many tales
Yet linger in our lonely dales,
Up pathless Ettrick and on Yarrow,
Where erst the outlaw drew his arrow. 3
But not more blithe that silvan court,
Than we have been at humbler sport;
Though small our pomp, and mean our

game,
Our mirth, dear Marriott, was the same.
Remember’st thou my greyhounds true!
O'er holt or hill there never flew,
From slip or leash there never sprang,
More fleet of foot, or sure of fang.

From Yair,—which hills so closely bind, Scarce can the Tweed his passage find, Though much he fret, and chafe, and toil, Till all his eddying currents boil, Her long-descended lord 7 is gone, And left us by the stream alone. And much I miss those sportive boys, Companions of my mountain joys, Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, When thought is speech, and speech is truth,

1 See Notes to the Lay of the Last Minstrel.

6 Mr. Marriott was governor to the young nobleman here 2 Slowbound.

alluded to, George Henry, Lord Scott, son to Charles. Earl of

Dalkeith, (afterwards Duke of Buccleuch and Queensberry,) 3 The Tale of the Outlaw Murray, who held out Newark and who died early in 1906.-See Life of Scott, vol. iii. pp. 59-61. Castle and Ettrick Forest against the King, may be found in the Border Minstrelsy, vol. i. In the Macfarlane M8., among

6 The four next lines on Harriet, Countess of Dalkeith, afother causes of James the Fifth's charter to the burgh of sel-terwards Duchess of Buccleuch, were not in the original Ms. kirk, is mentioned, that the citizens assisted him to suppress 7 The late Alexander Pringle, Esq., of Whytbank—whose this dangerous outlaw.

beautiful seat of the Yair stands on the Tweed, about two • A seat of the Duke of Buccleuch on the Yarrow, in Et

miles below Asl stiel, the then residence of the poet trick Forest Sce Notes to the Lay of the Last Mins!rel. 8 The sons of (r. Pringle of Whytbank.

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