Woe to the vassal, who durst pry Into Lord Marmion's privacy! XVI. His conscience slept-he deemed her well, And safe secured in distant cell; But, wakened by her favourite lay, And that strange Palmer's boding say, That fell so ominous and drear, Full on the object of his fear, To aid remorse's venomed throes, Dark tales of convent vengeance rose; And Constance, late betrayed and scorned, All lovely on his soul returned: Lovely as when, at treacherous call, She left her convent's peaceful wall, Till love, victorious o'er alarms, XVII. "Alas!" he thought, "how changed that mien! How changed these timid looks have been, Since years of guilt, and of disguise, Have steeled her brow, and armed her eyes! No more of virgin terror speaks The blood that mantles in her cheeks; Fierce, and unfeminine, are there, Frenzy for joy, for grief despair; And I the cause-for whom were given Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven!— Would," thought he, as the picture grows, "I on its stalk had left the rose ! Oh why should man's success remove Her convent's peaceful solitude Vigil and scourge-perchance even worse!" And twice he rose to cry "to horse!" And twice his sovereign's mandate came, And twice he thought, "Gave I not charge They durst not, for their island, shred One golden ringlet from her head." XVIII. While thus in Marmion's bosom strove Repentance and reviving love, Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway I've seen Loch Vennachar obey, Their Host the Palmer's speech had heard, And, talkative, took up the word : Aye, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray From Scotland's simple land away, To visit realms afar, Full often learn the art to know, Of future weal, or future woe, By word, or sign, or star; Yet might a knight his fortune hear, If, knight-like, he despises fear, Not far from hence ;-if fathers old These broken words the menials move, (For marvels still the vulgar love ;) And, Marmion giving license cold, His tale the host thus gladly told. XIX. The host's Tale. "A clerk could tell what years have flown Since Alexander filled our throne, (Third monarch of that warlike name,) And eke the time when here he came To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord: A braver never drew a sword; A wiser never, at the hour Of midnight, spoke the word of power; The same, whom ancient records call The founder of the Goblin-Hall. I would, Sir Knight, your longer stay Gave you that cavern to survey. Of lofty roof, and ample size, Beneath the castle deep it lies : To hew the living rock profound, The floor to pave, the arch to round, There never toiled a mortal arm, It all was wrought by word and charm ; Who laboured under Hugo's spell, Sounded as loud as ocean's war, Among the caverns of Dunbar. XX. "The king Lord Gifford's castle sought, Deep-labouring with uncertain thought: Even then he mustered all his host, To meet upon the western coast; |