There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ?

XIII.

The Monarch o'er the syren hung,

And beat the measure as she sung;
And, pressing closer, and more near,
He whispered praises in her ear.
In loud applause the courtiers vied;
And ladies winked, and spoke aside.
The witching dame to Marmion threw
A glance, where seemed to reign
The pride that claims applauses due,
And of her royal conquest, too,

A real or feigned disdain :

Familiar was the look, and told,

Marmion and she were friends of old.

The King observed their meeting eyes,

With something like displeased surprise;

For monarchs ill can rivals brook,

Even in a word, or smile, or look.

Strait took he forth the parchment broad,

Which Marmion's high commission showed : "Our Borders sacked by many a raid,

Our peaceful liege-men robbed," he said;

"On day of truce our Warden slain,

Stout Barton killed, his vessels taʼen—

Unworthy were we here to reign,

Should these for vengeance cry in vain ;

Our full defiance, hate, and scorn,

Our herald has to Henry borne.".

XIV.

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:

Princes and favourites 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 armour 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 sooth his sovereign's mood, Against the war had Angus stood, And chafed his royal Lord.

XV.

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 eye-brows kept their sable hue.
Near Douglas when the Monarch stood,
His bitter speech he thus pursued :—
"Lord Marmion, 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 Lindisfarn,

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;