"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 Linliten, which shall die during the year. . . The convenience afforded for the sport of falconry, which was so great a favorite during the feudal ages, was probably one cause of the attachment of the

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." 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.

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— 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,

ancient Scottish monarchs to Linlithgow and its fine lake. The sport of hunting was also followed with success in the neighborhood, 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 dressing-room, looking to the west, projects over the walls, so as 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. See Appendix, Note 3 C.

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 mark'd 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 tone1

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."

XVIII

While Lindesay told his marvel strange,
The twilight was so pale,
He mark'd not Marmion's color 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 skeptic 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.

Naught of the Palmer says he there,
And naught 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.

When sudden in the ring I view,
In form distinct of shape and hue,

A mounted champion rise.—
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 with 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,—

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 visor 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 e'er 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:

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

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 harbor 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 naught, 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.

XXIII.

Early they took Dun-Edin's road,

And I could trace each step they trode:
Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stone,
Lies on the path to me unknown.
Much might it boast of storied lore;
But, passing such digression o'er,
Suffice it that the route was laid

I knew the face of one who, fled

To foreign climes, or long since dead

I well may judge the last."

4 See the traditions concerning Bulmer, and the spectre called Lhamdearg, or Bloody-hand, in a note on canto iii. Appendix, Note 2 U.

5 MS.-"Of spotless faith, and bosom bold."

• MS." When mortals meditate within

Fresh guilt or unrepented sin."

Across the furzy hills of Braid.
They pass'd the glen and scanty rill,
And climb'd the opposing bank, until
They gain'd the top of Blackford Hill.

XXIV.

Blackford on whose uncultured breast,
Among the broom, and thorn, and whin,
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,
Naught 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,'
Thousands on thousands there were seen,
That checker'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;

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 whiten'd all the heath between."

4 Here ends the stanza in the MS.

6 Seven culverins so called, cast by one Borthwick.

From west to east, from north to south,
Scotland sent all her warriors forth.
Marinion 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.

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.'

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.

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 Saint George, were that host mine,
Not power infernal nor divine,

Should once to peace my soul incline,
Till I had dimm'd their armor's shine
In glorious battle-fray!"
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,1

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 splendor 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 12
But northward far, with purer blaze,
On Ochil mountains fell the rays,

And as each heathy top they kiss'd,
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;

1 MS.-"'Tis better sitting still at rest,
Than rising but to fall;

And while these words they did exchange,
They reach'd the camp's extremest range."

The Poet appears to have struck his pen through the two lines in italics, on conceiving the magnificent picture which replaces them in the text.

* MS.-" Dun-Edin's towers and town."

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;

Nor Marmion's frown repress'd his glee.

XXXI.

Thus while they look'd a flourish proud,
Where mingled trump and clarion loud,
And fife, and kettle-drum,
And sackbut deep, and psaltery,
And war-pipe with discordant cry,
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:*

"Thus clamor 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-
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 !*

MS.-"The Lion smiled his joy to see."

4 MS.-" And thus the Lion spoke." MS.-" Or to our Lady's of Sienne."

• MS.-" To you they speak of martial fame, To me of mood more mild and tameBlither would be their cheer."

7 MS." Her stately fanes and holy towers." 8 MS.—“ Dream of a conquest cheaply bought."