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CANTO

And well in death his trusty brand,
Firm clenched within his maaly hand,
Beseemed the monarch slain.

0! how changed since yon blythe night
Gladly I turn me from the sight,
Unto my tale again.

XXXVI.
Short is my tale :-Fitz-Eustace' care
A pierced and mangled body bare
To moated Lichfield's lofty pile;
And there, beneath the southern aisle,
A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair,
Did long Lord Marmion's image bear.
(Now vainly for its site you look ;
'Twas levelled, when fanatic Brook
The fair cathedral stormed and took ;*
But, thanks to heaven, and good Saint Chad,
A guerdon meet the spoiler had !)
There erst was martial Marnion found,
His feet upon a couchant hound,

His hands to heaven upraised;
And all around, on scutcheon rich,
And tablet carved, and fretted niche,

His arms and feats were blazed.
And yet, though all was carved so fair,
And priests for Marmion breathed the prayer,
The last Lord Marmion lay not there.
From Ettrick woods, a peasant swain
Followed his lord to Flodden plain,-
kmed; a circumstance that testifies the desperation of their resis
tance. The Scottish historians record many of the idle reports
by the popular

voice, not only of failing to pupport the king, but even of having carried him out of the field, and murdered hun Other reports care a still more romantic turu to the king's fate, and avertet that James, weary of greatness after the carnage among his nobles, had gune on a pilgrimage to merit absolution for the death of his father, and the breach of his oth of amnity to

* This story of Lichfield cathedral, which has been garrisoned on the part of the king. tomklace in the great civil war. Lord Brorik, vho, with Sir John Gill, commanded the assailants, was Stor with a musket ball through the risor of his helmet.' The Chad's Cathedral, and upon St Chad's day, and received his deathWound in the very eye with which, he had said, he hoped to see the rain of all the cathedrals in Eugland.

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Henry.

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One of those flowers, whom plaintive, lay
In Scotland mourns as wede away
Sore wounded, Sybil's Cross he spied,
And dragged him to its fout, and died,
Close by the noble Marmion's side.
The spoilers stripped and gashed the sain,
And thus their corpses were mista'en;
And thus, in the proud Baron's tomb,
The lowly woodsman took the room.

XXXVII.
Less easy task it were, to show
Lord Mármion's nameless grave, and low.
They dug his grave e'en where he lay,

But every mark is gone;
Time's wasting hand has done away
The simple Cross of Sybil Grey,

And broke her font of stone:
But yet from out the little hill
Oozes the slender springlet still.

Oft halts the stranger there,
For thence may best his curious eye
The memorable field descry;

And shepherd boys repair
To seek the water-flag and rush,
And rest them by the hazel bush,

And plait their garlands fair;
Nor dream they sit upon the grave,

That holds the bones of Marmion brave.---
When thou shalt find the little hill,
With thy heart commune, and be still
If ever, in temptation strong,
Thou left'st the right path for the wrong ;
If every devious step, thus trode,
Still led thee farther from the road;
Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom,
On noble Marmion's lowly tomb;
With
sword in hand, for England's right?
" He died a gallant knight,

XXXVIII.
I do not rhyme to that dull elf,

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But

Who cannot image to himself,

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