Where water, clear as diamond-spark, In a stone basin fell. Above, some half-worn letters say, Drink. weary. pilgrim. drink. and. pray . lho. built. this. cross. and. well. A Monk supporting Marmion's head; XXXI. Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave, "Or injured Constance, bathes my head?" I must redress her woes. Short space, few words, are mine to spare; "Alas!" she said, "the while,— O, think of your immortal weal! She Lord Marmion started from the ground, In torrents, from his wounded side. "Then it was truth,"-he said "I knew For wasting fire, and dying groan, It may not be !-this dizzy trance- XXXII. With fruitless labour, Clara bound, And that the priest he could not hear; For that she ever sung, "In the lost battle borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying!" So the notes rung; "Avoid thee, Fiend!—with cruel hand, Shake not the dying sinner's sand! O, look, my son, upon yon sign O, think on faith and bliss!- With dying hand, above his head, Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!" Were the last words of Marmion. XXXIII. By this, though deep the evening fell, For still the Scots, around their King, That to King Charles did come, When Rowland brave, and Olivier, And every paladin and peer, On Roncesvalles died! Such blasts might warn them, not in vain, To quit the plunder of the slain, And turn the doubtful day again, While yet on Flodden side, Afar, the Royal Standard flies, And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies, Our Caledonian pride! In vain the wish-for far away, While spoil and havoc mark their way, Near Sybil's Cross the plunderers stray.— "O, Lady," cried the Monk, "away!" And placed her on her steed, And led her to the chapel fair, Of Tilmouth upon Tweed. There all the night they spent in prayer, XXXIV. But as they left the dark'ning heath, That fought around their King. But yet, though thick the shafts as snow, Though charging knights like whirlwinds go, Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow, Unbroken was the ring; The stubborn spear-men still made good Each stepping where his comrade stood, The instant that he fell. No thought was there of dastard flight; Groom fought like noble, squire like knight, As fearlessly and well; Till utter darkness closed her wing |