With me they must not stay.
Saint Hilda keep her Abbess true!
Who knows what outrage he might do,
While journeying by the way?—

O, blessed Saint, if e'er again
I venturous leave thy calm domain,
To travel or by land or main,

Deep penance may I pay !—

Now, saintly Palmer, mark my prayer:
I give this packet to thy care,
For thee to stop they will not dare;
And O! with cautious speed,
To Wolsey's hand the papers bring,
That he may show them to the King:
And, for thy well-earn'd meed,
Thou holy man, at Whitby's shrine
A weekly mass shall still be thine,
While priests can sing and read.-
What ail'st thou ?-Speak!"--For as he
took

The charge, a strong emotion shook

His frame; and, ere reply,

They heard a faint, yet shrilly tone,
Like distant clarion feebly blown,

That on the breeze did die;
And loud the Abbess shriek'd in fear,
"Saint Withold, save us!-What is here!
Look at yon City Cross?

See on its battled tower appear Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear, And blazon'd banners toss!"

XXV.

Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillar'd stone,1
Rose on a turret octagon;
(But now is razed that monument,
Whence royal edict rang,

And voice of Scotland's law was sent

In glorious trumpet-clang.
O! be his tomb as lead to lead,
Upon its dull destroyer's head!--
A minstrel's malison is said.3)---
Then on its battlements they saw
A vision, passing Nature's law,

Strange, wild, and dimly seen;
Figures that seem'd to rise and die,
Gibber and sign, advance and fly,
While nought confirm'd could ear or eye
Discern of sound or mien.
Yet darkly did it seem, as there
Heralds and Pursuivants prepare,
With trumpet sound and blazon fair,
A summons to proclaim;

But indistinct the pageant proud,

As fancy forms of midnight cloud,
When flings the moon upon her shroud
A wavering tinge of flame;

It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud,
From midmost of the spectre crowd,
This awful summons came:-*

XXVI.

"Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer,

Whose names I now shall call, Scottish, or foreigner, give ear; Subjects of him who sent me here, At his tribunal to appear,

I summon one and all:

I cite you by each deadly sin,

That e'er hath soil'd your hearts within:

I cite you by each brutal lust,
That e'er defiled your earthly dust,—

By wrath, by pride, by fear,5
By each o'er-mastering passion's tone,
By the dark grave, and dying groan!
When forty days are pass'd and gone,
I cite you, at your Monarch's throne,
To answer and appear."
Then thunder'd forth a roll of names:
The first was thine, unhappy James!

Then all thy nobles came;
Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose, Argyle,
Ross, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyle,-
Why should I tell their separate style;
Each chief of birth and fame,
Of Lowland, Highland, Border, Isle,
Fore-doom'd to Flodden's carnage pile,
Was cited there by name;
And Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye,
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye;
De Wilton, erst of Aberley,

The self-same thundering voice did say.—7
But then another spoke:
"Thy fatal summons I deny,
And thine infernal Lord defy,
Appealing me to Him on High,

Who burst the sinner's yoke."
At that dread accent, with a scream,
Parted the pageant like a dream,

The summoner was gone.
Prone on her face the Abbess fell,
And fast, and fast, her beads did tell;
Her nuns came, startled by the yell,

And found her there alone.

She mark'd not, at the scene aghast,
What time, or how, the Palmer pass'd.

XXVII.

Shift we the scene.-The camp doth move,
Dun-Edin's streets are empty now,
Save when, for weal of those they love,

To pray the prayer, and vow the vow,
The tottering child, the anxious fair,
The grey-hair'd sire, with pious care,
To chapels and to shrines repair-
Where is the Palmer now? and where
The Abbess, Marmion, and Clare?-
Bold Douglas! to Tantallon fair

They journey in thy charge:
Lord Marmion rode on his right hand,
The Palmer still was with the band;
Angus, like Lindesay, did command,
That none should roam at large.
But in that Palmer's alter'd mien

A wondrous change might now be seen,
Freely he spoke of war,

Of marvels wrought by single hand,
When lifted for a native land;
And still look'd high, as if he plann'd
Some desperate deed afar.

His courser would he feed and stroke,
And, tucking up his sable frocke,
Would first his mettle bold provoke,
Then soothe or quell his pride.
Old Hubert said, that never one
He saw, except Lord Marmion,

A steed so fairly ride.

XXVIII.

Some half-hour's march behind, there came, By Eustace govern'd fair,

A troop escorting Hilda's Dame,

With all her nuns, and Clare.

No audience had Lord Marmion sought;
Ever he fear'd to aggravate
Clara de Clare's suspicious hate;
And safer 'twas, he thought,

To wait till, from the nuns removed,
The influence of kinsmen loved,
And suit by Henry's self approved,

Her slow consent had wrought.

His was no flickering flame, that dies Unless when fann'd by looks and sighs, And lighted oft at lady's eyes; He long'd to stretch his wide command O'er luckless Clara's ample land: Besides, when Wilton with him vied, Although the pang of humbled pride The place of jealousy supplied, Yet conquest by that meanness won He almost loath'd to think upon, Led him, at times, to hate the cause, Which made him burst through honour's laws.

1 MS.-North Berwick's town, and conic Law."

2 The convent alluded to is a foundation of Cistertian nuns

If e'er he lov'd, 'twas her alone, Who died within that vault of stone.

XXIX.

And now, when close at hand they saw North Berwick's town, and lofty Law, Fitz-Eustace bade them pause a while, Before a venerable pile,

Whose turrets view'd, afar,
The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle,"
The ocean's peace or war.

At tolling of a bell, forth came
The convent's venerable Dame,
And pray'd Saint Hilda's Abbess rest
With her, a loved and honour'd guest,
Till Douglas should a bark prepare
To waft her back to Whitby fair.
Glad was the Abbess, you may guess,
And thank'd the Scottish Prioress;
And tedious were to tell, I ween,
The courteous speech that pass'd between
O'erjoy'd the nuns their palfreys leave;
But when fair Clara did intend,
Like them, from horseback to descend,
Fitz-Eustace said,-" I grieve,
Fair lady, grieve e'en from my heart,
Such gentle company to part ;-

Think not discourtesy,

But lords' commands must be obey'd;
And Marmion and the Douglas said,

That you must wend with me.
Lord Marmion hath a letter broad,
Which to the Scottish Earl he show'd,
Commanding, that, beneath his care,
Without delay, you shall repair

To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare."

Her faithful guardian he will be,
Nor sue for slightest courtesy

That e'en to stranger falls,

Till he shall place her, safe and free,
Within her kinsman's halls."

He spoke, and blush'd with earnest grace;
His faith was painted on his face,

And Clare's worst fear relieved.
The Lady Abbess loud exclaim'd
On Henry, and the Douglas blamed,
Entreated, threaten'd, grieved;
To martyr, saint, and prophet pray'd,
Against Lord Marmion inveigh'd,
And call'd the Prioress to aid,

To curse with candle, bell, and book.
Her head the grave Cistertian shook:
"The Douglas, and the King," she said,
"In their commands will be obey'd;
Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall
The maiden in Tantallon hall."

XXXI.

The Abbess, seeing strife was vain,
Assumed her wonted state again,—
For much of state she had,-
Composed her veil, and raised her head,
And-" Bid," in solemn voice she said,
"Thy master, bold and bad,
The records of his house turn o'er,
And, when he shall there written see,
That one of his own ancestry
Drove the Monks forth of Coventry,'
Bid him his fate explore!

Prancing in pride of earthly trust,
His charger hurl'd him to the dust,
And, by a base plebeian thrust,
He died his band before.

God judge 'twixt Marmion and me;
He is a Chief of high degree,

And I a poor recluse:

Yet oft, in holy writ, we see
Even such weak minister as me
May the oppressor bruise:
For thus, inspired, did Judith slay
The mighty in his sin,
And Jael thus, and Deborah"-

Here hasty Blount broke in:
"Fitz-Eustace, we must march our band:
St. Anton' fire thee! wilt thou stand
All day, with bonnet in thy hand,
To hear the Lady preach?

1 See Appendix, Note 4 B.

2 This line, necessary to the rhyme, is now for the first time restored from the MS. It must have been omitted by an oversight in the original printing.-ED.

a For the origin of Marmion's visit to Tantallon Castle, in the Poem, see Life of Scott, vol. iii. p. 17.

4" During the regency (subsequent to the death of James V.) the Dowager Queen Regent, Mary of Guise, became desirous of putting a French garrison into Tantallon, as she had

By this good light! if thus we stay,
Lord Marmion, for our fond delay,

Will sharper sermon teach.

Come, d'on thy cap, and mount thy horse; The Dame must patience take perforce."—

XXXII.

"Submit we then to force," said Clare,
"But let this barbarous lord despair

His purposed aim to win;
Let him take living, land, and life;
But to be Marmion's wedded wife

In me were deadly sin:
And if it be the King's decree,
That I must find no sanctuary,
In that inviolable dome,

Where even a homicide might come,

And safely rest his head,

Though at its open portals stood,
Thirsting to pour forth blood for blood,
The kinsmen of the dead;
Yet one asylum is my own
Against the dreaded hour;
A low, a silent, and a lone,

Where kings have little power.
One victim is before me there.-
Mother, your blessing, and in prayer
Remember your unhappy Clare!"
Loud weeps the Abbess, and bestows

Kind blessings many a one:
Weeping and wailing loud arose,

Round patient Clare, the clamorous woes
Of every simple nun.

His eyes the gentle Eustace dried,

And scarce rude Blount the sight could bide.
Then took the squire her rein,

And gently led away her steed,
And, by each courteous word and deed,
To cheer her strove in vain.

XXXIII.

But scant three miles the band had rode,
When o'er a height they pass'd,
And, sudden, close before them show'd
His towers, Tantallon vast;3
Broad, massive, high, and stretching far,
And held impregnable in war.

On a projecting rock they rose,
And round three sides the ocean flows,
The fourth did battled walls enclose,

And double mound and fosse.*

into Dunbar and Inchkeith, in order the better to bridle the lords and barons, who inclined to the reformed faith, and to secure by citadels the sea-coast of the Frith of Forth. For this purpose, the Regent, to use the phrase of the time, 'dealed with the (then) Earl of Angus for his consent to the proposed measure. He occupied himself, while she was speaking, in feeding a falcon which sat upon his wrist, and only replied by addressing the bird, but leaving the Queen to make the application, The devil is in this greedy gled-she

་

By narrow drawbridge, outworks strong, Through studded gates, an entrance long,

No longer in his halls I'll stay."
Then bade his band they should array
For march against the dawning day.

To the main court they cross.
It was a wide and stately square:
Around were lodgings, fit and fair,
And towers of various form,
Which on the court projected far,
And broke its lines quadrangular.

Here was square keep, there turret high,

Or pinnacle that sought the sky,
Whence oft the Warder could descry

The gathering ocean-storm.

XXXIV.

Here did they rest.-The princely care
Of Douglas, why should I declare,
Or say they met reception fair?

Or why the tidings say,

Which, varying, to Tantallon came,
By hurrying posts or fleeter fame,

With ever varying day?

And, first they heard King James bad won
Etall, and Wark, and Ford; and then,
That Norham Castle strong was ta'en.

At that sore marvell'd Marmion ;-
And Douglas hoped his Monarch's hand
Would soon subdue Northumberland:
But whisper'd news there came,
That, while his host inactive lay,
And melted by degrees away,
King James was dallying off the day
With Heron's wily dame.-

Such acts to chronicles I yield;
Go seek them there, and see:
Mine is a tale of Flodden Field,

And not a history.

At length they heard the Scottish host
On that high ridge had made their post,
Which frowns o'er Millfield Plain;
And that brave Surrey many a band
Had gather'd in the Southern land,
And march'd into Northumberland,

And camp at Wooler ta'en.
Marmion, like charger in the stall,
That hears, without, the trumpet-call,
Began to chafe, and swear:-
"A sorry thing to hide my head
In castle, like a fearful maid,
When such a field is near!
Needs must I see this battle-day:
Death to my fame if such a fray
Were fought, and Marmion away!
The Douglas, too, I wot not why,
Hath 'bated of his courtesy:

will never be fou.' But when the Queen, without appearing to notice this hint, continued to press her obnoxious request, Angus replied, in the true spirit of a feudal noble, 'Yes, Madam, the castle is yours: God forbid else. But by the might of God, Madam!' such was his usual oath, I must be your Captain and Keeper for you, and I will keep it as well as any

Marmion.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH.

TO

RICHARD HEBER, Esq.

Mertoun-House, Christmas.

HEAP on more wood!-the wind is chill;
But let it whistle as it will,

We'll keep our Christmas merry still.
Each age has deem'd the new-born year
The fittest time for festal cheer:
Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane
At Iol more deep the mead did drain ;
High on the beach his galleys drew,
And feasted all his pirate crew;
Then in his low and pine-built hall,
Where shields and axes deck'd the wall;
They gorged upon the half dress'd steer;
Caroused in seas of sable beer;

While round, in brutal jest, were thrown
The half-gnaw'd rib, and marrow-bone:
Or listen'd all, in grim delight,
While Scalds yell'd out the joys of fight.
Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie,
While wildly-loose their red locks fly,
And dancing round the blazing pile,
They make such barbarous mirth the while,
As best might to the mind recall
The boisterous joys of Odin's hall.

The damsel donn'd her kirtle sheen;
The hall was dress'd with holy green;
Forth to the wood did merry-men go,
To gather in the misletoe.
Then open'd wide the Baron's hall
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all;
Power laid his rod of rule aside,
And Ceremony doff'd his pride.
The heir, with roses in his shoes,

That night might village partner choose;
The Lord, underogating, share

The vulgar game of "post and pair."
All hail'd, with uncontroll'd delight,
And general voice, the happy night,
That to the cottage, as the crown,
Brought tidings of salvation down.

The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, Went roaring up the chimney wide; The huge hall-table's oaken face, Scrubb'd till it shone, the day to grace, Bore then upon its massive board No mark to part the squire and lord. Then was brought in the lusty brawn, By old blue-coated serving-man;

Then the grim boar's head frown'd on high,

Crested with bays and rosemary.
Well can the green-garb'd ranger tell,
How, when, and where, the monster fell;
What dogs before his death he tore,
And all the baiting of the boar.1
The wassel round, in good brown bowls,
Garnish'd with ribbons, blithely trowls.
There the huge sirloin reek'd; hard by
Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie;
Nor fail'd old Scotland to produce,
At such high tide, her savoury goose.
Then came the merry maskers in,
And carols roar'd with olithesome din,
If unmelodious was the song,
It was a hearty note, and strong.
Who lists may in their mumming see
Traces of ancient mystery;2
White shirts supplied the masquerade,
And smutted cheeks the visors made;
But, O! what maskers, richly dight,
Can boast of bosoms half so light!
England was merry England, when
Old Christmas brought his sports again.
'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale;
'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;

1 MS." And all the hunting of the boar. Then round the merry wassel-bowl, Garnish'd with ribbons, blithe did trowl, And the large sirloin steam'd on high, Plum-porridge, hare, and savoury pie."

2 See Appendix, Note 4 E.

3"Blood is warmer than water,"-a proverb meant to vindicate our family predilections.

4 See Appendix, Note 4 F.

A Christmas gambol oft could cheer
The poor man's heart through half the year.

Still linger, in our northern clime,
Some remnants of the good old time;
And still, within our valleys here,
We hold the kindred title dear,
Even when, perchance, its far-fetch'd claim
To Southron ear sounds empty name;
For course of blood, our proverbs deem,
Is warmer than the mountain-stream.3
And thus, my Christmas still I hold
Where my great-grandsire came of old,
With amber beard, and flaxen hair,

And reverend apostolic air-
The feast and holy-tide to share,

And mix sobriety with wine,

And honest mirth with thoughts divine:
Small thought was his, in after time
E'er to be hitch'd into a rhyme.
The simple sire could only boast,
That he was loyal to his cost;
The banish'd race of kings revered,
And lost his land,-but kept his beard.

In these dear halls, where welcome kind
Is with fair liberty combined;
Where cordial friendship gives the hand,
And flies constraint the magic wand
Of the fair dame that rules the land."
Little we heed the tempest drear,
While music, mirth, and social cheer,
Speed on their wings the passing year.
And Mertoun's halls are fair e'en now,
When not a leaf is on the bough.

Tweed loves them well, and turns again,
As loath to leave the sweet domain,
And holds his mirror to her face,
And clips her with a close embrace:-
Gladly as he, we seek the dome,
And as reluctant turn us home.

How just that, at this time of glee, My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee! For many a merry hour we've known, And heard the chimes of midnight's tone.7 Cease, then, my friend! a moment cease, And leave these classic tomes in peace! Of Roman and of Grecian lore, Sure mortal brain can hold no more. These ancients, as Noll Bluff might say, "Were pretty fellows in their day;"8

5 MS." In these fair halls, with merry cheer, Is bid farewell the dying year."