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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.

CANTO FIFTH

THE COURT

THE train has left the hills of Braid;
The barrier guard have open made--
So Lindesay bade-the palisade

That closed the tented ground;
Their men the warders backward drew,
And carried pikes as they rode through
Into its ample bound.

Fast ran the Scottish warriors there,
Upon the Southern band to stare,
And envy with their wonder rose,
To see such well-appointed foes;
Such length of shafts, such mighty

bows,

So huge, that many simply thought
But for a vaunt such weapons wrought,
And little deemed their force to feel
Through links of mail and plates of steel
When, rattling upon Flodden vale,
The cloth-yard arrows flew like hail.

Nor less did Marmion's skilful view
Glance every line and squadron through,
And much he marvelled one small land
Could marshal forth such various band;
For men-at-arms were here,
Heavily sheathed in mail and plate,
Like iron towers for strength and weight
On Flemish steeds of bone and height,
With battle-axe and spear.

Young knights and squires, a lighter train,

Practised their charges on the plain,
By aid of leg, of hand, and rein,

Each warlike feat to show.

To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain,
And high curvet, that not in vain
The sword-sway might descend amain
On foeman's casque below
He saw the hardy burghers there
March armed on foot with faces bare,
For visor they wore none,

Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight;
But burnished were their corselets

bright,

Their brigantines and gorgets light

Like very silver shone.

Long pikes they had for standing fight,
Two-handed swords they wore,
And many wielded mace of weight,
And bucklers bright they bore.

On foot the yeoman too, but dressed
In his steel-jack, a swarthy vest,
With iron quilted well;

Each at his back-a slender store-
His forty days' provision bore,

As feudal statutes tell.

His arms were halbert, axe, or spear,
A crossbow there, a hagbut here,
A dagger-knife, and brand.
Sober he seemed and sad of cheer,
As loath to leave his cottage dear
And march to foreign strand,
Or musing who would guide his steer
To till the fallow land.

Yet deem not in his thoughtful eye
Did aught of dastard terror lie;

More dreadful far his ire

Than theirs who, scorning danger's name
In eager mood to battle came,
Their valor like light straw on flame,
A fierce but fading fire.

Not so the Borderer :-bred to war,
He knew the battle's din afar,

And joyed to hear it swell.
His peaceful day was slothful ease;
Nor harp nor pipe his ear could please
Like the loud slogan yell.

On active steed, with lance and blade, The light-armed pricker plied his trade,—— Let nobles fight for fame;

Let vassals follow where they lead, Burghers, to guard their townships, bleed,

But war's the Borderers' game. Their gain, their glory, their delight, To sleep the day, maraud the night, O'er mountain, moss and moor; Joyful to fight they took their way, Scarce caring who might win the day, Their booty was secure.

These, as Lord Marmion's train passed by,

Looked on at first with careless eye, Nor marvelled aught, well taught to know

The form and force of English bow.
But when they saw the lord arrayed
In splendid arms and rich brocade,
Each Borderer to his kinsman said,-
Hist, Ringan! seest thou there!
Canst guess which road they'll homeward
ride?

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Next, Marmion marked the Celtic race, Of different language, form, and face, A various race of man;

Just then the chiefs their tribes arrayed,
And wild and garish semblance made
The checkered trews and belted plaid,
And varying notes the war-pipes brayed
To every varying clan.

Wild through their red or sable hair
Looked out their eyes with savage stare
On Marmion as he passed;
Their legs above the knee were bare;
Their frame was sinewy, short, and
spare,

And hardened to the blast;

Of taller race, the chiefs they own
Were by the eagle's plumage known.
The hunted red-deer's undressed hide
Their hairy buskins well supplied;
The graceful bonnet decked their head;
Back from their shoulders hung the
plaid;

A broadsword of unwieldy length,
A dagger proved for edge and strength,
A studded targe they wore,
And quivers, bows, and shafts,-but,
oh!

Short was the shaft and weak the bow
To that which England bore.
The Isles-men carried at their backs
The ancient Danish battle-axe.
They raised a wild and wondering cry,
As with his guide rode Marmion by,
Loud were their clamoring tongues, as
when

The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen
And, with their cries discordant mixed,
Grumbled and yelled the pipes betwixt.

Thus through the Scottish camp they passed,

And reached the city gate at last,
Where all around, a wakeful guard,
Armed burghers kept their watch and
ward.

Well had they cause of jealous fear,
When lay encamped in field so near
The Borderer and the Mountaineer.
As through the bustling streets they go,
All was alive with martial show;
At every turn with dinning clang

The armorer's anvil clashed and rang, Or toiled the swarthy smith to wheel The bar that arms the charger's heel, Or axe or falchion to the side

Of jarring grindstone was applied, Page, groom, and squire, with hurrying pace,

Through street and lane and marketplace,

Bore lance or casque or sword ; While burghers, with important face, Described each new-come lord, Discussed his lineage, told his name, His following, and his warlike fame. The Lion led to lodging meet, Which high o'erlooked the crowded street;

There must the baron rest Till past the hour of vesper tide, And then to Holy-Rood must ride,Such was the king's behest. Meanwhile the Lion's care assigns A banquet rich and costly wines To Marmion and his train; And when the appointed hour succeeds, The baron dons his peaceful weeds, And following Lindesay as he leads. The palace halls they gain.

Old Holy-Rood rung inerrily That night with wassail, mirth, and glee:

King James within her princely bower
Feasted the chiefs of Scotland's power,
Summoned to spend the parting hour;
For he had charged that his array
Should southward march by break of
day.

Well loved that splendid monarch aye
The banquet and the song,
By day the tourney, and by night
The merry dance, traced fast and light,
The maskers quaint, the pageant bright,
The revel loud and long.

This feast outshone his banquets past;
It was his blithest--and his last.
The dazzling lamps from gallery gay
Cast on the court a dancing ray;
Here to the harp did minstrels sing,
There ladies touched a softer string;
With long-eared cap and motley vest,
The licensed fool retailed his jest ;
His magic tricks the juggler plied;
At dice and draughts the gallants vied;
While some, in close recess apart,
Courted the ladies of their heart,

Nor courted them in vain ;
For often in the parting hour
Victorious Love asserts his power

O'er coldness and disdain ; And flinty is her heart can view To battle march a lover true-Can hear, perchance, his last adieu, Nor own her share of pain.

Through this mixed crowd of glee and game

The king to great Lord Marmion came,
While, reverent, all made room.
An easy task it was, I trow,
King James's manly form to know,
Although, his courtesy to show,
He doffed to Marmion bending low
His broidered cap and plume.
For royal were his garb and mien:

His cloak of crimson velvet piled,
Trimmed with the fur of marten wild,
His vest of changeful satin sheen,
The dazzled eye beguiled;
His gorgeous collar hung adown,
Wrought with the badge of Scotland's

crown,

The thistle brave of old renown;
His trusty blade, Toledo right,
Descended from a baldric bright;
White were his buskins, on the heel
His spurs inlaid of gold and steel;
His bonnet all of crimson fair,
Was buttoned with a ruby rare:
And Marmion deemed he ne'er had seen
A prince of such a noble mien.

The monarch's form was middle size,
For feat of strength or exercise
Shaped in proportion fair;
And hazel was his eagle eye,
And auburn of the darkest dye
His short curled beard and hair.
Light was his footstep in the dance,
And firm his stirrup in the lists;
And, oh! he had that merry glance
That seldom lady's heart resists.
Lightly from fair to fair he flew,
And loved to plead, lament and sue,-
Suit lightly won and short lived pain,
For monarchs seldom sigh in vain.

I said he joyed in banquet bower;
But, mid his mirth, 't was often strange
How suddenly his cheer would change,
His look o'ercast and lower,
If in a sudden turn he felt
The pressure of his iron belt,
That bound his breast in penance pain,
In memory of his father slain.
Even so 't was strange how evermore,
Soon as the passing pang was o'er,
Forward he rushed with double glee
Into the stream of revelry.

Thus dim-seen object of affright
Startles the courser in his flight,
And half he halts, half springs aside,
But feels the quickening spur applied,
And, straining on the tightened rein,
Scours doubly swift o'er hill and plain.

O'er James's heart, the courtiers say,
Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway;
To Scotland's court she came,
To be a hostage for her lord,
Who Cessford's gallant heart had gored,
And with the king to make accord
Had sent his lovely dame.
Nor to that lady free alone
Did the gay king allegiance own;

For the fair Queen of France
Sent him a turquoise ring and glove,
And charged him, as her knight and love,
For her to break a lance,

And strike three strokes with Scottish brand,

And march three miles on Southron land
And bid the banners of his band

In English breezes dance.
And thus for France's queen he drest
His manly limbs in mailed vest,
And thus admitted English fair
His inmost councils still to share,
And thus for both he madly planned
The ruin of himself and land!

And yet, the sooth to tell,
Nor England's fair nor France's queen
Were worth one pearl-drop, bright and
sheen,

From Margaret's eyes that fell,His own Queen Margaret, who in Lithgow's bower

All lonely sat and wept the weary hour.

The queen sits lone in Lithgow pile,
And weeps the weary day
The war against her native soil,
Her monarch's risk in battle broil,-
And in gay Holy-Rood the while
Dame Heron rises with a smile
Upon the harp to play.

Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er

The strings her fingers flew;

And as she touched and tuned them all, Ever her bosom's rise and fall

Was plainer given to view; For, all for heat, was laid aside Her wimple, and her hood untied. And first she pitched her voice to sing, Then glanced her dark eye on the king, And then around the silent ring,

And laughed, and blushed, and oft did

say

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The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up.

He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.

She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,

With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.

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He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar,

Now tread we a measure!' said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,

That never a hall such a galliard did grace;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;

And the bride-maidens whispered "Twere better by far

To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.'

One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,

When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near;

So light to the croupe the fair lady he

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He paused, and led where Douglas stood And with stern eye the pageant viewed; I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore, Who coronet of Angus bore,

And, when his blood and heart were high,

Did the third James in camp defy,
And all his minions led to die

On Lauder's dreary flat.
Princess and favorites long grew tame,
And trembled at the homely name
Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat;
The same who left the dusky vale
Of Hermitage in Liddisdale,

Its dungeons and its towers,

Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air,
And Bothwell bank is blooming fair,
To fix his princely bowers.
Though now in age he had laid down
His armor for the peaceful gown,

And for a staff his brand,

Yet often would flash forth the fire
That could in youth a monarch's ire
And minion's pride withstand;
And even that day at council board,
Unapt to scothe his sovereign's mood,
Against the war had Angus stood,
And chafed his royal lord.

His giant-form, like ruined tower, Though fallen its muscles' brawny vaunt, Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and

gaunt,

Seemed o'er the gaudy scene to lower; His locks and beard in silver grew, His eyebrows kept their sable hue.

Near Douglas when the monarch stood, His bitter speech he thus pursued :

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Lord Marinion, since these letters say That in the North you needs must stay While slightest hopes of peace remain, Uncourteous speech it were and stern To say-Return to Lindisfarne,

Until my herald come again. Then rest you in Tantallon hold; Your host shall be the Douglas bold,-A chief unlike his sires of old. He wears their motto on his blade, Their blazon o'er his towers displayed, Yet loves his sovereign to oppose More than to face his country's foes.

And, I bethink me, by Saint Stephen, But e'en this morn to me was given A prize, the first fruits of the war, Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar,

A bevy of the maids of heaven. Under your guard these holy maids Shall safe return to cloister shades, And, while they at Tantallon stay, Requiem for Cochran's soul may say." And with the slaughtered favorite's

name

Across the monarch's brow there came A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame.

In answer nought could Angus speak, His proud heart swelled well-nigh to break;

He turned aside, and down his cheek
A burning tear there stole.

His hand the monarch sudden took, That sight his kind heart could not brook:

"Now, by the Bruce's soul,
Angus, my hasty speech forgive!
For sure as doth his spirit live,
As he said of the Douglas old,

I well may say of you,-
That never king did subject hold,
In speech more free, in war more bold
More tender and more true;
Forgive me, Douglas, once again.”—
And, while the king his hand did strain
The old man's tears fell down like rain
To seize the moment Marmion tried,
And whispered to the king aside:

Oh! let such tears unwonted plead
For respite short from dubious deed!
A child will weep a bramble's smart,
A maid to see her sparrow part,
A stripling for a woman's heart;
But woe awaits a country when
She sees the tears of bearded men.
Then, oh! what omen, dark and high
When Douglas wets his manly eye!"

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