His helm hung at the saddle-bow; Well, by his visage, you might know The scar on his brown cheek reveal'd Coal-black, and grizzled here and there, His square-turn'd joints and strength of limb, But, in close fight, a champion grim, In camps, a leader sage. VI. Well was he arm'd from head to heel, In mail, and plate of Milan steel; But his strong helm, of mighty cost, Was all with burnish'd gold emboss'd; A falcon hover'd on her nest, With wings outspread, and forward breast. E'en such a falcon, on his shield, Soar'd sable in an azure field; The golden legend bore aright, Who checks at me, to death is right. Blue was the charger's broider'd rein; Blue ribbons deck'd his arching mane; The knightly housing's ample fold Was velvet blue, and trapp'd with gold. VII. Behind him rode two gallant squires, Of noble name, and knightly sires; They burn'd the gilded spurs to claim: Could draw the bow, the sword could sway, Nor less with courteous precepts stored, Could dance in hall, and carve at board, And frame love-ditties passing rare, VIII. Four men-at-arms came at their backs, With halberd, bill, and battle-axe : They bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong, And led his sumpter-mules along, And ambling palfrey, when at need Him listed ease his battle-steed. The last, and trustiest of the four, On high his forky pennon bore. Like swallow's tail, in shape and hue, Flutter'd the streamer glossy blue; Where, blazon'd sable, as before, The towering falcon seem'd to soar. In hosen black, and jerkins blue, Attended on their lord's behest. Each chosen for an archer good, Their dusty palfreys, and array, Shew'd they had march'd a weary way. IX. 'Tis meet that I should tell you now, How fairly arm'd, and order'd how, The soldiers of the guard, With musquet, pike, and morion, To welcome noble Marmion, Stood in the Castle-yard; Minstrels and trumpeters were there, The gunner held his linstock yare, Enter'd the train, and such a clang, As then through all his turrets rang, Old Norham never heard! X. The guards their morrice-pikes advanced, The trumpets flourish'd brave, The cannon from the ramparts glanced, And thundering welcome gave. A blithe salute, in martial sort, The minstrels well might sound, For as Lord Marmion cross'd the court, He scatter'd angels round. VOL. II. с |