Their mutual greetings duly made,
The Lion thus his message said :—
"Though Scotland's King hath deeply swore1
Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more,
And strictly hath forbid resort
From England to his royal court;
Yet, for he knows Lord Marmion's name,
And honors much his warlike fame,
My liege hath deem'd it shame, and lack
Of courtesy, to turn him back;
And, by his order, I, your guide,
Must lodging fit and fair provide,

Till finds King James meet time to see
The flower of English chivalry."

IX.

Though inly chafed at this delay,
Lord Marmion bears it as he may.
The Palmer, his mysterious guide,
Beholding thus his place supplied,
Sought to take leave in vain:
Strict was the Lion-King's command,
That none,
who rode in Marmion's band,

Should sever from the train;
"England has here enow of spies
In Lady Heron's witching eyes:"
To Marchmount thus, apart, he said,
But fair pretext to Marmion made.
The right hand path they now decline,
And trace against the stream the Tyne.

X.

At length up that wild dale they wind, Where Crichtoun Castle crowns the bank; For there the Lion's care assign'd

A lodging meet for Marmion's rank. That Castle rises on the steep

Of the green vale of Tyne:

And far beneath, where slow they creep,
From pool to eddy, dark and deep,
Where alders moist, and willows weep,

You hear her streams repine.
The towers in different ages rose;
Their various architecture shows
The builders' various hands;
A mighty mass, that could oppose,
When deadliest hatred fired its foes,
The vengeful Douglas bands.

XI.

Chrichtoun! though now thy miry court But pens the lazy steer and sheep,

1 MS.-"The Lion-King his message said :-

'My liege bath deep and deadly swore,'" &c.

2 See Appendix, Note 2 Z; and, for a fuller description of Crichton Castle, see Sir Walter Scott's Miscellaneous Prose Works, vol. vii. p. 157.

MS.-"Her lazy streams repine."

Thy turrets rude, and totter'd Keep, Have been the minstrel's loved resort. Oft have I traced, within thy fort,

Of mouldering shields the mystic sense, Scutcheons of honor, or pretence, Quarter'd in old armorial sort,

Remains of rude magnificence. Nor wholly yet had time defaced

Thy lordly gallery fair;

Nor yet the stony cord unbraced,
Whose twisted knots, with roses laced,

Adorn thy ruin'd stair.
Still rises unimpair'd below,
The court-yard's graceful portico;
Above its cornice, row and row
Of fair hewn facets richly show
Their pointed diamond form,
Though there but houseless cattle go,
To shield them from the storm.
And, shuddering, still may we explore,
Where oft whilom were captives pent,
The darkness of thy Massy More ;*

Or, from thy grass-grown battlement May trace, in undulating line, The sluggish mazes of the Tyne.

XII.

Another aspect Chrichtoun show'd,
As through its portal Marion roue,
But yet 'twas melancholy state
Received him at the outer gate;
For none were in the Castle then,
But women, boys, or aged men.

With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame,
To welcome noble Marmion, came;
Her son, a stripling twelve years old,
Proffer'd the Baron's rein to hold;

For each man that could draw a sword
Had march'd that morning with their lord,
Earl Adam Hepburn,—he who died
On Flodden, by his sovereign's side.'
Long may his Lady look in vain!
She ne'er shall see his gallant train,
Come sweeping back through Crichtoun-Dean
"Twas a brave race, before the name
Of hated Bothwell stain'd their fame.

Linlithgow, distinguished by the combined strength and beauty of its situation, must have been early selected as a royal residence. David, who bought the title of saint by his liberality to the Church, refers several of his charters to his town of Linlithgow; and in that of Holyrood expressly bestows on the new monastery all the skins of the rams, ewes, and lambs, belonging to his castle of Linlitcu, which shall die during the year. The convenience afforded for the sport of falconry, which was so great a favorite during the feudal ages, was probably one cause of the attachment of the

Linlithgow is excelling; And in its park in jovial June, How sweet the merry linnet's tune, How blithe the blackbird's lay! The wild-buck-bells from ferny brake, The coot dives merry on the lake, The saddest heart might pleasure take To see all nature gay.

But June is to our Sovereign dear The heaviest month in all the year: Too well his cause of grief you know June saw his father's overthrow." Woe to the traitors, who could bring The princely boy against his King! Still in his conscience burns the sting. In offices as strict as Lent,

King James's June is ever spent.R

XVI.

"When last this ruthful month was

come,

And in Linlithgow's holy dome

The King, as wont, was praying; While, for his royal father's soul, The chanters sung, the bells did toll, The Bishop mass was sayingFor now the year brought round again' The day the luckless king was slain— In Katharine's aisle the Monarch knelt, With sackcloth-shirt, and iron belt,

And eyes with sorrow streaming; Around him in their stalls of state, The Thistle's Knight Companions sate,

ancient Scottish monarchs to Linlithgow and its fine lake. The sport of hunting was also followed with success in the neighborhood, from which circumstance it probably arises that the ancient arms of the city represent a black greyhound bitch tied to a tree. The situation of Linlithgow Palace is eminently beautiful. It stands on a promontory of some elevation, which advances almost into the midst of the lake. The form is that of a square court, composed of buildings of four stories high, with towers at the angles. The fronts within the square, and the windows, are highly ornamented, and the size of the rooms, as well as the width and character of the staircases, are upon a magnificent scale. One banquet-room is ninety-four feet long, thirty feet wide, and thirty-three feet high, with a gallery for music. The king's wardrobe or dressing-room, looking to the west, projects over the walls, sc as to have a delicious prospect on three sides, and is one of the mcst enviable boudoirs we have ever seen."-SIR WALTER SCOTT's Miscellaneous Prose Works, vol. vii. p. 382, &c. See Appendix, Note 3 C.

:

Their mutual greetings duly made,
The Lion thus his message said:-
"Though Scotland's King hath deeply swore'
Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more,
And strictly hath forbid resort
From England to his royal court;
Yet, for he knows Lord Marmion's name,
And honors much his warlike fame,

My liege hath deem'd it shame, and lack
Of courtesy, to turn him back;
And, by his order, I, your guide,
Must lodging fit and fair provide,

Till finds King James meet time to see
The flower of English chivalry."

IX.

Though inly chafed at this delay,
Lord Marmion bears it as he may.
The Palmer, his mysterious guide,
Beholding thus his place supplied,

Sought to take leave in vain:
Strict was the Lion-King's command,
That none, who rode in Marmion's band,

Should sever from the train; "England has here enow of spies In Lady Heron's witching eyes:" To Marchmount thus, apart, he said, But fair pretext to Marmion made. The right hand path they now decline, And trace against the stream the Tyne.

X.

At length up that wild dale they wind, Where Crichtoun Castle' crowns the bank; For there the Lion's care assign'd

A lodging meet for Marmion's rank. That Castle rises on the steep

Of the green vale of Tyne:

And far beneath, where slow they creep,
From pool to eddy, dark and deep,
Where alders moist, and willows weep,

You hear her streams repine."
The towers in different ages rose;
Their various architecture shows

The builders' various hands;
A mighty mass, that could oppose,*
When deadliest hatred fired its foes,
The vengeful Douglas bands.

XI.
Chrichtoun! though now thy miry court
But pens the lazy steer and sheep,

Thy turrets rude, and totter'd Keep, Have been the minstrel's loved resort. Oft have I traced, within thy fort,

Of mouldering shields the mystic sense, Scutcheons of honor, or pretence, Quarter'd in old armorial sort,

Remains of rude magnificence. Nor wholly yet had time defaced

Thy lordly gallery fair;

Nor yet the stony cord unbraced,
Whose twisted knots, with roses laced,
Adorn thy ruin'd stair.

Still rises unimpair'd below,
The court-yard's graceful portico;
Above its cornice, row and row
Of fair hewn facets richly show
Their pointed diamond form,
Though there but houseless cattle go,
To shield them from the storm.
And, shuddering, still may we explore,
Where oft whilom were captives pent,

The darkness of thy Massy More ;“

Or, from thy grass-grown battlement

May trace, in undulating line,

The sluggish mazes of the Tyne.

XII.

Another aspect Chrichtoun show'd,
As through its portal Mar:nion roue,
But yet 'twas melancholy state
Received him at the outer gate;
For none were in the Castle then,

But women, boys, or aged men.

With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame,
To welcome noble Marmion, came;
Her son, a stripling twelve years old,
Proffer'd the Baron's rein to hold;
For each man that could draw a sword
Had march'd that morning with their lord,
Earl Adam Hepburn,--he who died
On Flodden, by his sovereign's side."
Long may his Lady look in vain!
She ne'er shall see his gallant train,

Come sweeping back through Crichtoun-Dean
"Twas a brave race, before the name
Of hated Bothwell stain'd their fame.

Who marshall'd then his land's array,
Upon the Borough-moor that lay.
Perchance he would not foeman's eye
Upon his gathering host should pry,
Till full prepared was every band
To march against the English land.
Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's wit
Oft cheer the Baron's moodier fit;
And, in his turn, he knew to prize
Lord Marmion's powerful mind, and wise
Train'd in the lore of Rome and Greece,
And policies of war and peace.1

XIV.

It chanced, as fell the second night,
That on the battlements they walk'd,
And, by the slowly-fading light,
Of varying topics talked;
And, unaware, the Herald-bard2

Said, Marmion might his toil have spared,
In travelling so far;

For that a messenger from heaven
In vain to James had counsel given
Against the English war;3

And, closer question'd, thus he told
A tale, which chronicles of old
In Scottish story have enroll'd :—

XV.

Sir David Lindesay's Tale. Of all the palaces so fair,* Built for the royal dwelling, In Scotland, far beyond compare

1 MS." Nor less the Herald Monarch knew The Baron's powers to value trueHence confidence between them grew."

MS.-"Then fell from Lindesay, unware,

That Marmion might his labor spare."
Marmion might well

See Appendix, Note 3 B.

"In some places, Mr. Scott's love of variety has betrayed him into strange imitations. This is evidently formed on the school of Sternhold and Hopkins,-

Of all the palaces so fair,'"' &c.

JEFFREY. In Scotland there are about twenty palaces, castles, and remains, or sites of such,

"Where Scotia's kings of other years"

had their royal home.

"Linlithgow, distinguished by the combined strength and beauty of its situation, must have been early selected as a royal residence. David, who bought the title of saint by his liberality to the Church, refers several of his charters to his town of Linlithgow; and in that of Holyrood expressly bestows on the new monastery all the skins of the rams, ewes, and lambs, belonging to his castle of Linliteu, which shall die during the year. The convenience afforded for the sport of falconry, which was so great a favorite during the feudal ages, was probably one cause of the attachment of the

Linlithgow is excelling; And in its park in jovial June, How sweet the merry linnet's tune, How blithe the blackbird's lay! The wild-buck-bells from ferny brake, The coot dives merry on the lake, The saddest heart might pleasure take To see all nature gay.

But June is to our Sovereign dear The heaviest month in all the year: Too well his cause of grief you know June saw his father's overthrow." Woe to the traitors, who could bring The princely boy against his King! Still in his conscience burns the sting. In offices as strict as Lent,

King James's June is ever spent.

XVI.

"When last this ruthful month was

come,

And in Linlithgow's holy dome

The King, as wont, was praying; While, for his royal father's soul, The chanters sung, the bells did toll,

The Bishop mass was sayingFor now the year brought round again' The day the luckless king was slainIn Katharine's aisle the Monarch knelt, With sackcloth-shirt, and iron belt,

And eyes with sorrow streaming; Around him in their stalls of state, The Thistle's Knight Companions sate,

ancient Scottish monarchs to Linlithgow and its fine lake. The sport of hunting was also followed with success in the neighborhood, from which circumstance it probably arises that the ancient arms of the city represent a black greyhound bitch tied to a tree. The situation of Linlithgow Palace is eminently beautiful. It stands on a promontory of some elevation, which advances almost into the midst of the lake. The form is that of a square court, composed of buildings of four stories high, with towers at the angles. The fronts within the square, and the windows, are highly ornamented, and the size of the rooms, as well as the width and character of the staircases, are upon a magnificent scale. One banquet-room is ninety-four feet long, thirty feet wide, and thirty-three feet high, with a gallery for music. The king's wardrobe or dressing-room, looking to the west, projects over the walls, sc as to have a delicious prospect on three sides, and is one of the mcst enviable boudoirs we have ever seen."-SIR WALTER SCOTT's Miscellaneous Prose Works, vol. vii. p. 382, &c.

Their banners o'er them beaming.
I too was there, and, sooth to tell,
Bedeafen'd with the jangling knell,
Was watching where the sunbeams fell,
Through the stain'd casement gleaming;
But, while I mark'd what next befell,

It seem'd as I were dreaming.
Stepp'd from the crowd a ghostly wight,
In azure gown, with cincture white;
His forehead bald, his head was bare,
Down hung at length his yellow hair.—
Now, mock me not, when, good my Lord,
I pledge to you my knightly word,
That, when I saw his placid grace,
His simple majesty of face,
His solemn bearing, and his pace

So stately gliding on,-
Seem'd to me ne'er did limner paint
So just an image of the Saint,
Who propp'd the Virgin in her faint,-
The loved Apostle John!

XVII.

"He stepp'd before the Monarch's chair,
And stood with rustic plainness there,
And little reverence made;

Nor head nor body, bow'd nor bent,
But on the desk his arm he leant,

And words like these he said,

In a low voice, but never tone'

So thrill'd through vein, and nerve, and bone :

'My mother sent me from afar,

Sir King, to warn thee not to war,—
Woe waits on thine array;

If war thou wilt, of woman fair,
Her witching wiles and wanton snare,
James Stuart, doubly warn'd, beware:
God keep thee as he may!'

The wondering Monarch seem'd to seek
For answer, and found none;
And when he raised his head to speak,
The monitor was gone.

The Marshal and myself had cast
To stop him as he outward pass'd;
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast,

He vanish'd from our eyes,
Like sunbeam on the billow cast,
That glances but, and dies."

XVIII.

While Lindesay told his marvel strange,
The twilight was so pale,

He mark'd not Marmion's color change,
While listening to the tale;
But, after a suspended pause,

The Baron spoke :-" Of Nature's laws
So strong I held the force,
That never superhuman cause

Could e'er control their course,
And, three days since, had judged your aim
Was but to make your guest your game;
But I have seen, since past the Tweed,3
What much has changed my skeptic creed,
And made me credit aught."-He staid,
And seem'd to wish his words unsaid:
But, by that strong emotion press'd,
Which prompts us to unload our breast,
Even when discovery's pain,
To Lindesay did at length unfold
The tale his village host had told,

At Gifford, to his train.

Naught of the Palmer says he there,
And naught of Constance, or of Clare;
The thoughts which broke his sleep, he seem
To mention but as feverish dreams.

XIX.

"In vain," said he, "to rest I spread My burning limbs, and couch'd my head: Fantastic thoughts return'd;

And, by their wild dominion led,

My heart within me burn'd. So sore was the delirious goad, I took my steed, and forth I rode And, as the moon shone bright and cold, Soon reach'd the camp upon the wold. The southern entrance I pass'd through, And halted, and my bugle blew. Methought an answer met my ear,Yet was the blast so low and drear," So hollow, and so faintly blown, It might be echo of my own.

XX.

"Thus judging, for a little space I listen'd, ere I left the place;

But scarce could trust my eyes, Nor yet can think they served me true,

MS." In vain," said he, "to rest I laid

My burning limbs, and throbbing head-
Fantastic thoughts return'd;

led,

And, by their wild dominion sway'd, sed,

My heart within me burn'd."

$ MS.-" And yet it was so slow and drear."