While for his royal father's soul

The chanters sung, the bells did toll,
The bishop mass was saying

For now the year brought round again 310
The day the luckless king was slain
In Catherine'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,
Bedeafened with the jangling knell,
Was watching where the sunbeams fell,
Through the stained casement gleam-
ing;

But while I marked what next befell

It seemed as I were dreaming.
Stepped 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,

Seemed to me ne'er did limner paint
So just an image of the saint

Who propped the Virgin in her faint,
The loved Apostle John!

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So thrilled 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 warned, beware:

God keep thee as He may !",

The wondering monarch seemed 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

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To stop him as he outward passed;
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast,
He vanished 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 marked 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 beld the force,
That never superhuman cause

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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, What much has changed my sceptic creed, And made me credit aught.' — He stayed, And seemed to wish his words unsaid, But, by that strong emotion pressed 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.

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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 couched my head; Fantastic thoughts returned,

And, by their wild dominion led,

My heart within me burned. So sore was the delirious goad, I took my steed and forth I rode, And, as the moon shone bright and cold, Soon reached the camp upon the wold. The southern entrance I passed 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 listened ere I left the place,

But scarce could trust my eyes, Nor yet can think they serve me true,

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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 mixed affray,
And ever, I myself may say,

Have borne me as a knight;
But when this unexpected foe
Seemed 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 rolled upon the plain.

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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!

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Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade; But when to good Saint George I prayed,

The first time e'er I asked his aid,
He plunged it in the sheath,
And, on his courser mounting light,
He seemed to vanish from my sight:
The moonbeam drooped, and deepest night
Sunk down upon the heath..
'T were long to tell what cause I have

To know his face that met me there, 450 Called by his hatred from the grave To cumber upper air; Dead or alive, good cause had he To be my mortal enemy.'

XXII

Marvelled Sir David of the Mount; Then, learned in story, gan recount

Such chance had happed 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 trained him nigh to disallow The aid of his baptismal vow.

And such a phantom, too, 't is 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 harbor unrepented sin.'.
Lord Marmion turned him half aside,
And twice to clear his voice he tried,

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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,
Thousands on thousands there were seen,
That checkered 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.

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Answered the bard, of milder mood:
Fair is the sight, and yet 't were good
That kings would think withal,
When peace and wealth their land has
blessed,

"T is better to sit still at rest

Than rise, perchance to fall.'

XXX

Still on the spot Lord Marmion stayed, 600
For fairer scene he ne'er surveyed.
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, 610
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!

But northward far, with purer blaze,
On Ochil mountains fell the rays,
And as each heathy top they kissed,
It gleamed a purple amethyst.
Yonder the shores of Fife you saw,
Here Preston-Bay and Berwick-Law;

And, broad between them rolled,
The gallant Firth the eye might note,
Whose islands on its bosom float,

Like emeralds chased in gold.
Fitz-Eustace's 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-volt in air,

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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 repressed his glee.

XXXI

Thus while they looked, 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 tolled 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 Saint Catherine's of Sienne,

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The burghers forth to watch and ward, 670 'Gainst Southern sack and fires to guard Dun-Edin's leaguered wall.

But not for my presaging thought, Dream conquest sure or cheaply bought! Lord Marmion, I say nay:

God is the guider of the field,

679

He breaks the champion's spear and shield;
But thou thyself shalt say,
When joins you host in deadly stowre,
That England's dames must weep in bower,
Her monks the death-mass sing;
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.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO

FIFTH

TO GEORGE ELLIS, ESQ.

6gc

Edinburgh

WHEN dark December glooms the day,
And takes our autumn joys away;
When short and scant the sunbeam throvs
Upon the weary waste of snows

A cold and profitless regard,

Like patron on a needy bard;

When sylvan occupation's done,

And o'er the chimney rests the gun,

And hang in idle trophy near,

The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear; 10
When wiry terrier, rough and grim,
And greyhound, with his length of limb,
And pointer, now employed no more,
Cumber our parlor's narrow floor;
When in his stall the impatient steed
Is long condemned to rest and feed;
When from our snow-encircled home
Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam,
Since path is none, save that to bring
3 The needful water from the spring;
When wrinkled news-page, thrice conned
o'er,

Beguiles the dreary hour no more,
And darkling politician, crossed,
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 renewed delight
The busy day and social night.

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Not she, the championess of old, In Spenser's magic tale enrolled, She for the charmed spear renowned, 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 corselet'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 rolled
Her locks profuse of paly gold.
They who whilom in midnight fight
Had marvelled at her matchless might,
No less her maiden charms approved,
But looking liked, and liking loved.
The sight could jealous pangs beguile,
And charm Malbecco's cares awhile;
And he, the wandering Squire of Dames,
Forgot his Columbella's claims,

And passion, erst unknown, could gain
The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane;
Nor durst light Paridell advance,
Bold as he was, a looser glance.

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8a

She charmed, at once, and tamed the heart, Incomparable Britomart!

So thou, fair City! disarrayed
Of battled wall and rampart's aid,
As stately seem'st, but lovelier far
Than in that panoply of war.

Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne
Strength and security are flown;
Still as of yore, Queen of the North!
Still canst thou send thy children forth.
Ne'er readier at alarm-bell's call
Thy burghers rose to man thy wall
Than now, in danger, shall be thine,
Thy dauntless voluntary line;
For fosse and turret proud to stand,
Their breasts the bulwarks of the land.
Thy thousands, trained to martial toil,
Full red would stain their native soil,
Ere from thy mural crown there fell
The slightest knosp or pinnacle.
And if it come, as come it may,
Dun-Edin! that eventful day,

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