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And well in death his trusty brand,

Firm clenched within his manly hand,
Beseemed the monarch slain.

But, O! 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 Marmion 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,-

kiled; a circumstance that testifies the desperation of their resis-
tance, The Scottish historians record many of the idle reports
which passed among the vulgar of their day. Home was accused,
by the popular voice, not only of failing to support the king, but
even of having carried him out of the field, and murdered him.
Other reports gave a still more romantic turn to the king's fate,
and averred, that James, weary of greatness after the carnage
among his nobles, had gone on a pilgrimage to merit absolution for
the death of his father, aud the breach of his oath of amity to

Henry

This storm of Lichfield cathedrd, which had been garrisoned Brook, who, with Sir John Gill, commanded the assailants, was the part of the king, took place in the great civil war. Lord het rith a musket ball through the visor of his helmet. The oyalists remarked, that he was killed by a shot fired from St

wound in the very eye with which, he had said, he hoped to $88 the ruin of all the cathedrals in England.

To every lovely lady bright,

What can I wish but faithful knight? To every faithful lover too, What can I wish but lady true? And knowledge to the studious sage;. And pillow soft to head of age. To thee, dear schoolboy, whom my lay Has cheated of thy hour of play Light task, and merry holiday! To all, to each, a fair good night, And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light!

THE

LADY OF THE LAKE

A Poem z

IN SIX CANTOS

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