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or the jointerueltyse:

I listened to a traitor's tale.

The ire of a despotic king I left the convent and the veil.

Rides forth upon destruction's wing: For three long years I bowed my pride,

Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep, A horse-boy in his train to ride ;

Burst open to the sea-wind's sweep, And well my folly's meed he gave,

Some traveller then shall find my bones, Who forfeited, to be his slave,

Whitening amid disjointed stones, All here and all beyond the grave.

And, ignorant of priest's cruelty,
He saw young Clara's face more fair,

Marvel such relics here should be.''
He knew her of broad lands the heir,
Forgot his vows. his faith forswore,

XXXII.
And Constance was beloved no more.

Fixed was her look, and stern her air, 'Tis an old tale, and often told;

Back from her shoulders strearned her hair ; But, did my fate and wish agree,

The locks, that wont her brow to shade, Ne'er had been read, in story old;

Stared up erectly from her head : Of maiden truc, betrayed for gold,

Her figure seemed to rise more high; That loved, or was avenged, like me

Her voice, despair's wild energy,

Had given a tone of prophecy.
XXVIII.

Appalled the astonished conclave sate;

With stupid eyes, the men of fate " The king approved his favourite's aim ;

Gaxed on the light-inspired form, In vain a rival barred his claim,

And listened for the avenging storm, Whose faith with Clara's was plight,

The judges felt the victim's dread; For he attaints that rival's fame

No hand was moved, no word was said, With treason's charge--and on they came,

Till thus the Abbot's doom was given, In mortal lists to fight.

Raising his sightless balls to heaven: Their oaths are said,

“ Sister, let thy sorrows cease; Their prayers are prayed,

Sinful brother, part in peace!" Their lances in the rest are laid,

From that dire dungeon, place of doom, They meet in mortal shock;

Of execution, too, and tomb, And hark! the throng, with thundering cry,

Paced forth the judges three; Shout · Marmion, Marmion, to the sky!

Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell De Wilton to the block!''

The butcher-work that there befell,
Say ye, who preach Heaven shall decide,

When they had glided from the cell
When in the lists two champions ride,
Say, was Heaven's justice here?

Of sin and misery.
When, loyal in his love and faith,

XXXIII. Wilton found overthrow or death,

An hundred winding steps convey Beneath a traitor's spear.

That conclave to the upper day; How false the charge, how true he fell,

But, ere they breathed the fresher air, This guilty packet best can tell."

They heard the shriekings of despair, Then drew a packet from her breast,

And many a stifted groan: Paused, gathered voice, and spoke the rest.

With speed their upward way they take xxix.

(Such speed as age and fear can make).

And crossed themselves for terror's cake, " Still was false Marmion's bridal staid:

As hurrying, tottering on: To Whitby's convent fied the maid,

Even in the vesper's heavenly tone The hated match to shun

They seemed to hear a dying groan, · Ho! shifts she thus?' King Henry cried,

And bade the passing knell to toll Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride,

For welfare of a parting soul, If she were sworn a nun.'

Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, One way remained the king's command

Northumbrian rocks in answer ring; Sent Marmion to the Scottish land:

To Warkworth cell the echoes rolled, I lingered here, and rescue plann'd

His beads the wakeful hermit told : For Clara and for me.

The Bamborough peasant raised his head, This caitiff Monk, for gold, did swear,

But slept ere half a prayer he said, He would to Whitby's shrine repair,

Bo far was heard the mighty knell, And, by his drugs, my rival fair

The stag sprung up on Cheviot Pell, A saint in heaven should be.

Spread his broad nostril to the wind, But ill the dastard kept his oath,

Listed before, aside, behind,
Whose cowardice hath tundone us both.

Then couched him down beside the hind.
And quaked among the mountain feru,

To hear that sound, so dwl and stern,
* And now my tongue the secret tells,
Not that remorse my bosom swells,
But to assure my soul that none
Shall ever wed with Marmion.
Had fortune my last hope betrayed,

INTRODCCTION TO CANTO THIRD,
This packet to the king conveyed.
Had given him to the headsman's stroke,

19 WILLIAM ERSKIKE, EN Although me freart that instant brokeNow, mer th, work forth your will,

Axlvetul, Ettricke Porust, For I can

id bes :
Ande
Or con 4e fast,

LIKE April morning clouds, that pass,
With varying shadow, o'er the grass,
And imitate, on field and furrow,
Life's chequered scene of joy and sorrow;
Like streamlet of the mountain sworth,
Now in a torrent racing forth,
Now winding slow its silver traiu.
And almost slumbering on the plain :
Like breezes of the autumn day.
Whose voice inconstant dies away,
And ever wells again as fast.
When the ear deemus is margur past

[graphic]
[graphic]

With damp and darkness seemed to strive, This wretch was clad in frock and cowi, As if it scarce might keep alive;

And shamed not loud to mourn and howl, And yet it dimiy served to show

His body on the floor to dash, The awful conclave met below.

And crouch like hound beneath the lash;

While his mute partner standing near
XIX.

Waited her doom without a tear.
There met to doom in secrecy,

XXIII.
Were placed the heads of convents thrce.
All servants of St. Benedice,

Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek, The statues of whose order strict

Well might her paleness terror speak! On iron table iay;

For there were seen in that dark wall In long black dress, on seats of stone,

Two niches, narrow, deep and tall. Behind were these three judges shown

Who enters at such grisly door, By the pale cresset's ray.

Shall ne'er, I wean, find exit more. The Abbess of Saint Hilda there

In each a slender meal was laid Sate for a pace with visage bare,

Of roots, of water, and of bread: Until, to hide her bosom's swell,

By each, in Benedictine dress, And tear-drops that for pity fell,

Two haggard monks stood motionless, She closely drew her veil.

Who, holding high a blazing torch, Yon shrouded figure, as I guess,

Showed the grim entrance of the porch: By her proud mien and flowing dress.

Reflecting back the smoky beam, Is Tyneinouth's haughty Prioress,

The dark-red walls and arches gleam. And she with awe looks pale.

Hewn stones and cement were displayed, And he, that Ancient Man, whose sight

And building tools in order laid.
Has long been quenched by age's night,
Upon wliose wrinkled brow alone

XXIV.
Nor ruth nor mercy's trace is shown,

These executioners were chose Whose look is hard and stern,

As men who were with mankind foes, Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style ;

And, with despite and envy fired, For sanctity called, through the aisle,

Into the cloister had retired: The Saint of Lindisfarn.

Or who, in desperate doubt of grace,

Strove, by deep penance, to efface
XX.

Of some foul crime the stain:
Before them stood a guilty pair,

For, as the vassals of her will, But though an equal fate they share,

Such men the church selected still, Yet one alone deserves our care.

As either joyed in doing ill, Her sex a page's dress belied

Or thought more grace to gain, The cloak and doublet, loosely tied,

If, in her cause, they wrestled down Obscured her charıns, but could not hide.

Feelings their nature strove to own. Her cap down o'er her face she drew

By strange device were they brought there, And on her doublet breast,

They knew not how, and knew not where. 11 She tried to hide the badge of blue, Lord Marmion's falcon crest.

XXV. But, at the Prioress' command,

And now that blind old Abbot rose, A monk undid the silken band,

To speak the Chapter's doom, That tied her tresses fair,

On those the wall was to enclose, And raised the bonnet from her head,

Alive, within the tomb; And down her slender form they spread

But stopped, because that woful maid, In ringlets rich and rare.

Gathering her powers, to speak essayed. Constance de Beverley they know,

Twice she essayed, and twice in vain; Sister professed of Fontevraud,

Her accents might no utterance gain; Whom the church numbered with the dead, Nought but imperfect murmurs slip For broken vows and convent fied.

From her convulsed and quivering lip.

"Twixt each attempt all was so still, XXI.

You seemed to hear a distant rillWhen thus her face was given to view

'Twas ocean's swell and falls; (Although so pallid was hier hue.

For through this vault of sin and fear It did a ghastly contrast bear

Was to the sounding surge so near, To those bright ringlets, glistering fair),

A tempest there you scarce could hear, Her look composed, and steady eye,

So massive were the walls.
Bespoke a matchless constancy;
And there she stood so calm and pale,

XXVI.
That, but her breathing did not fail,

At length an effort sent apart And inotion slight of eye and head,

The blood that curdled to her heart, And of her bosom, warranted

And light came to her eye, That neither sense nor pulse she lacks,

And colour dawned upon her cheek, You might have thought a form of wax,

A hectic and a fluttered streak, Wrought to the very life, was there;

Like that left on the Cheviot peak So still she was, so pale, so fair.

By Autumn's stormy sky;

And when her silence broke at length,
XXII.

Still as she spoke, she gathered strength, Her comrade was a sordid soul,

And arm'd herself to hear. Such as does murder for a meed;

It was a fearful sight to see Who, but of fear, knows no control,

Such high resolve and constancy,
Because his conscience, seared and foul,

In form so soft and fair.
Feels not the import of his deed :
One whose brute feeling ne'er aspires

XXVII.
Beyond his own more brute desires.

"I speak not to implore your grace; Such tools the tempter ever needs

Well know I, for one minute's space To do the savagest of deeds;

Successless might I sue: For then no visioned terrors daunt,

Nor do I speak your prayers to gain: Their night no fancied spectres haunt;

For if a death of lingering pain, One fear with them, of all most base-

To cleanse my sins, be penace vain, The fear of death,-alone finds place.

Vain are your masses too.

ringlet de Beve Pontext

mated, and Slisterin

hait de money

I listened to a traitor's tale.

The ire of a despotic king I left the convent and the veil.

Rides forth upon destruction's wing: For three long years I bowed my pride,

Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep, A horse-boy in his train to ride;

Burst open to the sea-wind's sweep. And well my folly's meed he gave,

Some traveller then shall find my bones, Who forfeited, to be his slave,

Whitening amid disjointed stones, All here and all beyond the grave.

And, ignorant of priest's cruelty,
He saw young Clara's face more fair,

Marvel such relics here should be."
He knew her of broad lands the heir,
Forgot his vows. his faith forswore,

XXXII.
And Constance was beloved no more.

Fixed was her look, and stern her air, "Tis an old tale, and often told;

Back from her shoulders streamed her hair ; But, did my fate and wish agree,

The locks, that wont her brow to shade, Ne'er had been read, in story old;

Stared up erectly from her head; Of maiden true, betrayed for gold,

Her figure seemed to rise more high ; That loved, or was avenged, like me

Her voice, despair's wild energy,

Had given a tone of prophecy.
XXVIII.

Appalled the astonished conclave sate; "The king approved his favourite's aim ;

With stupid eyes, the men of fate In vain a rival barred his claim,

Gaxed on the light-inspired form, Whose faith with Clara's was plight,

And listened for the avenging storm. For he attaints that rival's fame

The judges felt the victim's dread; With treason's charge--and on they came,

No hand was moved, no word was said,

Till thus the Abbot's doom was given, In mortal lists to fight.

Raising his sightless balls to heaven: Their oaths are said,

"Sister, let thy sorrows cease; Their prayers are prayed, Their lances in the rest are laid,

Sinful brother, part in peace!"

From that dire dungeon, place of doom, They meet in mortal shock;

Of execution, too, and tomb,
And hark! the throng, with thundering cry,
Shout - Marmion, Marmion, to the sky!

Paced forth the judges three ;

Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell De Wilton to the block!'.

The butcher-work that there befell, Say ye, who preach Heaven shall decide.

When they had glided from the cell
When in the lists two champions ride,

Of sin and misery.
Say, was Heaven's justice here?
When, loyal in his love and faith,

XXXIII.
Wilton found overthrow or death,

An hundred winding steps convey Beneath a traitor's spear.

That conclave to the upper day; How false the charge, how true he fell,

But, ere they breathed the fresher air, This guilty packet best can tell."

They heard the shriekings of despair, Then drew a packet from her breast,

And many a stified groan: Paused, gathered voice, and spoke the rest.

With speed their upward way they take

(Such speed as age and fear can make), XXIX.

And crossed themselves for terror's sake, “ Still was false Marmion's bridal staid ;

As hurrying, tottering on: To Whitby's convent fled the maid,

Even in the vesper's heavenly tone The hated match to shun.

They seemed to hear a dying groan, Ho! shifts she thus?' King Henry cried,

And bade the passing knell to toll Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride,

For welfare of a parting soul. If she were sworn a nun.'

Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, One way remained the king's command

Northumbrian rocks in answer ring; Sent Marmion to the Scottish land:

To Warkworth cell the echoes rolled, I lingered here, and rescue plann'd

His beads the wakeful hermit told; For Clara and for me.

The Bamborough peasant raised his head, This caitiff Monk, for gold, did swear,

But slept ere half a prayer he said; He would to Whitby's shrine repair,

So far was heard the mighty knell, And, by his drugs, my rival fair

The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, A saínt in heaven should be.

Spread his broad nostril to the wind, But ill the dastard kept his oath,

Listed before, aside, behind, Whose cowardice hath undone us both.

Then couched him down beside the hind.

And quaked among the mountain fern,
XXX.

To hear that sound, so dull and stern.
" And now my tongue the secret tells,
Not that remorse my bosom swells,

Wome sin that none
But to assure my soul that none
Shall ever wed with Marmion.
Had fortune my last hope betrayed,

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD.
This packet to the king conveyed,
Had given him to the headsman's stroke,

TO WILLIAM ERSKINE, ESQ.
Although my heart that instant broke.
Now, men of death, work forth your will,

Ashestiel, Ettricke Forest.
For I can suffer, and be still ;
And come he slow, or come he fast,

LIKE April morning clouds, that pass, It is but death who comes at last.

With varying shadow, o'er the grass,

And imitate, on field and furrow,
XXXI.

Life's chequered scene of joy and sorrow; * Yet dread me, from my living tomb,

Like streamlet of the mountain north, Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome!

Now in a torrent racing forth, Ji Marmion's late remorse should wake.

Now winding slow its silver train, Full soon such vengeance will he take,

And almost slumbering on the plain; That you shall wish the fiery Dane

Like breezes of the antumn day, Had rather heen your guest again.

Whose voice inconstant dies away, Behind, a darker hour ascends!

And ever swells again as fast. The altars quake, the crozier bends,

I When the ear deems its murmur past

s but he slowd be storth Poloke,

engabe nast nesedia mine

Thus various, my romantic theme

1 Or that, where vengeance and attright Flits, winds, or sinks, a inorning dream.

Howl'd round the father of the fight, Yet pleased, our eye pursnes the traco

Who snatched on Alexandria's sand Of light and shade's inconstant race;

The conqueror's wreath with dying hand. Pleased, views the rivulet afar,

" Or, if to touch sach chord be thine, Weaving its maze irregular;

Restore the ancient tragic line, And pleased, we listen as the breeze

And emulate the notes that rung Heaves its wild sigh throngh Antuon trees.

From the wild harp which silent hung, Then wild as cloud, or stream, or gale,

By silver Avon's holy shore, Flow on, flow unconfined, my tale.

Til twice an hundred years rolled o'er;

When she, the bold enchantress, came, Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell. ti. . With fearless hand and heart on flame ! I love the license all too well,

From the pale willow snatched the treasure, In sounds now lowly and now strong.

And swept it with a kindred measure, To raise the desultory song?

Till Avon's swans, while rung the grove Oft, when mid such capricious chime.

With Montfort's hate and Basil's love, Some transient fit of lofty rhyme, i

Awakening at the inspired strain, To thy kind judgment seemed excuse

Deemed their own Shakspere lived again." For many an error of the muse; Oft hast thou said, "If still misspent.

Thy friendship thus thy judgment wronging, Thine hours to poetry are lent,

With praises not to me belonging, Go, and, to tame thy wandering course,

In task more meet for mightiest powers, Quaff from the fountain at the source;

Would'st thou engage my thriftless hours. Approach those inasters, o'er whose tomb

But say, my Erskine, hast thon weighed Immortal laurels ever bloom :

That secret power by all obeyed, Instructive of the feebler bard,

Which warps not less the passive mind. Still from the grave their voice is heard;

Its source concealed or undefined; From them, and from the paths they show'd, Whether an impulse, that has birth Chuse honoured guide and practised road;

Soon as the infant wakes on earth, Nor ramble on through brake and maze,

One with our feelings and our powers, With harpers rude of barbaronis day.

And rather part of us than ours:

Or whether fitlier termed the sway " Or deem'st thou not our later time

Of habit, formed in early day? Yields topic meet for classic rhyme ?

Howe'er derived, its force confessed Hast thou no elegiae verse

Rules with despotic sway the breast, For Brunswick's venerable hearse ?

And drags us on by viewless chain, What! not a line, a tear, or sigh,

While taste and reason plead in vain. When valour bleeds for liberty : :

Look east, and ask the Belgian why, Oh, hero of that glorious time,

.

Beneath Batavia's sultry sky, When with unrivalled light sublime,

He seeks not eager to inhale Though martial Austria, and though all

The freshness of the mountain gale, The might of Russia and the Gaul,

Content to rear his whitened wall Though banded Europe stood her foes-

Beside the dank and dull canal ? The star of Brandenburgh arose!

He'll say, from youth he loved to see Thou could'st not live to see her beam:.

The white sail gliding by the tree. For ever quenched in Jena's stream. n

Or see yon weather-beaten hind, Lamented chief!-it was not given,

Whose sluggish herds before him wind,

cich herinnen und To thee to change the doom of Heaven,

Whose tattered plaid and rugged cheek And crush that dragon in its birth,..

His northern clime and kindred speak: « Predestined scourge of guilty earth.

Through England's laughing meads he goes, Lamented chief!--not thine the power,

And England's wealth around him filows; To save in that presumptuous hour

Ask, if it would content him well, When Prussia hurried to the field,

At ease in these gay plains to dwell, And snatched the spear, but left the shield! Where hedgerows spread a verdant screen, Valour and skill 'twas thine to try. In: And spires and forests intervene, And, tried in vain, 'twas thine to die. i ta And the neat cottage peeps between? Ill had it seemed thy silver hair

is 1 No! not for these will he exchange
The last, the bitterest pang to share, 1) His dark Lochaber's boundless range,
For princedoms reft, and scutcheons riven, it! Not for fair Devon's meads forsake
And wirthrights to usurpers given:

Bennevis grey and Garry's lake.
Thy land's, thy children's wrongs to feel, ni
And witness woes thou could'st not heal

Thus, while I ape the measure wild
On thee relenting Heaven bestows

Of tales that charmed me yet a child, For hononred life an honoured close ;

Rude though they be, still with the chime And when revolves, in time's sure change,

Return the thoughts of early time, The hour of Germany's revenge, .'1')

And feelings, roused in life's first day, When, breathing fury for her sake,

Glow in the line, and prompt the lay: Some new Arminius shall awake.

Then rise those crags, that mountain tower: Her champion, ere he strike, shall come

Which charmed my fancy's wakening hour, To whet his sword on Brunswick's tomb.

Though no broad river swept along ,

To claim, perchance, heroic song: " Or of the Red-Cross hero teach 'B12 ,

Though sighed no groves in summer gale, Dauntless in dungeon as on breach: ".

To prompt of love a softer tale: Alike to him the sea, the shore,

Though scarce a pony streamlet's speed The brand, the bridle, or the our

!! The brand, the bridle, or the our

Claimed homage from a shepherd's reed; Alike to hiin the war that calls.

Yet was poetic Impulse given, Its votaries to the shattered walls,

By the green hill and clear blue heaven.
Which the grim Turk besmeared with blood, It was a barren scene, and wild,
Against the Invincible made good;

Where naked cliffs were rudely piled:
Or that, whose thundering voice could wako But ever and anon between
Tho silence of the polar lake,

Lay velvet tufts of lovellest green ;
When stubborn Russ, and metalled Swede. And well the lonely infant knew
On the warped wave their death-game played; | Recesses where the wall-fower grew,

Le'll sa the dank his whitenta in ga

Cuced peamigania, befolour :

And honeysuckle loved to crawl

They might not choose the lowland road, Up the low crack and ruined wall.

For the Merse forayers were abroad, I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade

Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey, The sun in all his round surveyed;

Had scarcely failed to bar their way. And still I thought that shattered tower

Oft on the trampling band, from crown The mightiest work of human power;

Of some tall cliff, the deer looked down: And marvelled, as the aged hind

On wings of jet from his repose
With some strange tale bewitched my mind, In the deep heath, the black-cock rose ;
Of forayers, who, with headlong force,

Sprung from the gorse the timid roe, Down from that strength had spurred their Nor waited for the bending bow; horse.

And when the stony path began, Their southern rapine to renew,

By which the naked peak they wan, Far in the distant Cheviots blue,

Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. And, home returning, filled the hall

The noon had long been passed, before With revel, wassel-route, and brawl.

They gained the height of Lammermour; Methought that still with trump and clang Thence winding down the northern way, The gateway's broken arches rang;

Before them, at the elose of day,
Methought grim features, seamed with scars, Old Gifford's towers and hamlet lay.
Glared through the window's rusty bars,
And ever, by the winter heath,

II.
Old tales I heard of woe or mirth,
of lovers' sleights, of ladies' charms,

No summons calls them to the tower, Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms;

To spend the hospitable hour. Of patriot battles, won of old

To Scotland's camp the Lord was gone; By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold;

His cautious dame, in bower alone, of later fields of feud and fight,

Dreaded her castle to inclose, When, pouring from their Highland height,

So late, to unknown friends or foes. The Scottish clans, in headlong sway,

On through the hamlet as they paced, Had swept the scarlet ranks away.

Before a porch, whose front was graced While stretched at length upon the floor,

With bush and flagon trimly plac:d, Again I fought each combat o'er,

Lord Marmion drew his rein: Pebbles and shells, in order laid,

The village inn seemed large, though rude; The mimic ranks of war displayed;

Its cheerful fire and hearty food And onward still the Scottish Lion bore.

Might well relieve his train. And still the scattered Southron fled before.

Down from their seats the horsemen spring,

With jingling spurs the court-yard rung: Still, with vain fondness, could I trace,

They bind their horses to the stall, Anew, each kind familiar face,

For forage, food, and firing call, That brightened at our evening fire;

And various clamour fills the hall;
From the thatched mansion's grey-haired sire, Weighing the labour with the cost,
Wise without learning, plain and good,

Toils everywhere the bustling host.
And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood;
Whose eye in age, quick, clear, and keen,

III.
Showed what in youth its glance had been ;
Whose dome discording neighbours sought,

Soon, by the chimney's merry blaze,
Content with equity unbought;

Through the rude hostel might you gaze; To him the venerable Priest,

Might see, where, in dark nook aloof, Our frequent and familiar guest,

The rafters of the sooty roof Whose life and manners well could paint

Bore wealth of winter cheer; Alike the student and the saint:

Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store, Alas! whose speech too oft I broke

And gammons of the tusky boar, With gambol rude and timeless joke:

And savoury haunch of deer For I was wayward, bold, and wild,

The chimney-arch projected wide; A self-will'd imp, a grandame's child;

Above, around it, and beside But half a plague, and half à jest

Were tools for housewives' hand : Was still endured, beloved, carest,

Nor wanted, in that martial day,

The implements of Scottish fray, From me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask

The buckler, lance, and brand. The classic poet's well-conned task?

Beneath its shade, the place of state, Nay, Erskine, nay-on the wild hill

On oaken settle Marmion sate, , Let the wild hoath bell flourish still;

And viewed, around the blazing hearth, Cherish the talip, prune the vine,

His followers mix in noisy mirth; But freely let the woodbine twiné,

Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide, And leave untrimmed the eglantine:

From ancient vessels ranged aside,
Nay, my friend, nay-since oft thy praise

Full actively their host supplied.
Hath gfven fresh vigour to my lays,
Since oft thy judgment conld refine

IV,
My flattened thought, or cumbrous line.
Stiil kind, as is thy wont, attend,

Theirs was the glee of martial breast,
And in the minstrel spare the friend.

And laughter theirs at little jost: Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale,

And oft Lord Marinion designed to aid, Flow forth, flow unrestrain'd, my tale!

And mingle in the mirth they made:
For though, with men of high degree,
The proudest of the proud was he,

Yet, trained in camps, he knew the art
CANTO THIRD).

To win the soldier's hardy heart.

They love a captain to obey,
THE HOSIEL, OR INN.

Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May;
With open hand, and brow as free,

Lover of wine and mistrelsy ;
The livelong day Lord Marmion rode :

Ever the first to soale a tower, The monntaln-path the Palmer showed;

As venturous in a lady's bower, By glen and streamlet winded still,

Gnch buxom chief shall lead his host Where stunted birohes hid the rill,

From India's fires to Zembla's frost.

. when he sainter lan hour,

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