ページの画像
PDF
ePub
[graphic]

XIX.

« For such like need, my lord, I trow,
Norham can find you guides enow;
For here be some have prick'd as far,
On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar;
Ilave drunk the monks of St Bothan's ale,
And driven the beeves of Lauderdale;
Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods,
And given them light to set their hoods.» (14)

XX.

« Now, in good sooth,» Lord Marmion cried, « Were I in warlike-wise to ride,

A better guard I would not lack

Than your stout forayers at my back:
But as in form of peace I go,

A friendly messenger, to know

war;

Why through all Scotland near and far,
Their king is mustering troops of
The sight of plundering Border spears
Might justify suspicious fears,
And deadly feud, or thirst for spoil,
Break out in some unseemly broil:
A herald were my fitting guide,
Or friar, sworn in peace to bide;
Or pardoner, or travelling priest,
Or strolling pilgrim at the least.»-
XXI.

The captain mused a little space,
And pass'd his hand across his face.

«Fain would I find the guide you want, But ill may spare a pursuivant,

The only men that safe can ride
Mine errands on the Scottish side:
And though a bishop built this fort,
Few holy brethren here resort;
Even our good chaplain, as I ween,
Since our last siege we have not seen:
The mass he might not sing or say,
Upon one stinted meal a-day;
So, safe he sat in Durham aisle,

And pray'd for our success the while.
Our Norman vicar, woe betide,

Is all too well in case to ride.

The priest of Shoreswood (15)--he could rein
The wildest war-horse in your train;
But then, no spearman in the hall
Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl.
Friar John of Tillmouth were the man;
A blithesome brother at the can,
A welcome guest in hall and bower,
He knows each castle, town, and tower,
In which the wine and ale are good,
'Twixt Newcastle and Holyrood.
But that good man, as ill befals,
Hath seldom left our castle walls,
Since, on the vigil of St Bede,
In evil hour he cross'd the Tweed,
To teach dame Alison her creed.
Old Bughtrig found him with his wife,
And John, an enemy to strife,
Sans frock and hood, fled for his life.
The jealous churl hath deeply swore,
That, if again he venture o'er,
He shall shrieve penitent no more.

Little he loves such risks, I know;
Yet in your guard perchance will go.»

XXII.

Young Selby, at the fair hall-board
Carved to his uncle and that lord,
And reverently took up the word.
«Kind uncle, woe were we each one,
If harm should hap to brother John.
He is a man of mirthful speech,
Can many a game and gambol teach:
Full well at tables can he play,
And sweep, at bowls, the stake away.
None can a lustier carol bawl;
The needfullest among us all,

When time hangs heavy in the hall,
And snow comes thick at Christmas tide,
And we can neither hunt, nor ride

A foray on the Scottish side.

The vow'd revenge of Bughtrig rude
May end in worse than loss of hood.
Let Friar John, in safety, still
In chimney-corner snore his fill,
Roast hissing crabs, or flagons swill.
Last night to Norliam there came one
Will better guide Lord Marmion.»>-

[blocks in formation]

« Here is a holy Palmer come,

From Salem first, and last from Rome; One that hath kiss'd the blessed tomb, And visited each holy shrine

In Araby and Palestine;

On hills of Armenie hath been,
Where Noah's ark may yet be seen;
By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod,
Which parted at the prophet's rod;
In Sinai's wilderness he saw

The Mount where Israel heard the law,
Mid thunder-dint, and flashing levin,
And shadows, mists, and darkness, given.
He shows St James's cockle-shell,
Of fair Mountserrat too can tell;

And of that grot where olives nod,
Where, darling of each heart and eye,
From all the youth of Sicily,

St Rosalie retired to God. (16)

XXIV.

merry,

«To stout St George of Norwich
St Thomas, too, of Canterbury,
Cuthbert of Durham, and St Bede,
For his sins' pardon hath he pray'd.
He knows the passes of the north,
And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth;
Little he eats, and long will wake,
And drinks but of the stream or lake.
This were a guide o'er moor and dale:
But, when our John hath quaff'd his ale,
As little as the wind that blows,
And warms itself against his nose,
Kens he, or cares,
which way he goes.»-

[ocr errors]

XXV.

Gramercy!» quoth Lord Marmion, «Full loth were I that Friar John, That venerable man, for me Were placed in fear or jeopardy. If this same Palmer will me lead From hence to Holyrood,

Like his good saint I'll pay his meed,
Instead of cockle-shell or bead,

With angels fair and good.
I love such holy ramblers; still
They know to charm a weary hill,
With song, romance, or lay:
Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest,
Some lying legend, at the least,
They bring to cheer the way.»-

XXVI.

<< Ah! noble sir,» young Selby said, And finger on his lip he laid,

«This man knows much, perchance e'en more
Than he could learn by holy lore.
Still to himself he 's muttering,

And shrinks as at some unseen thing.
Last night we listen'd at his cell;
Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell,
He murmur'd on till morn, howe'er
No living mortal could be near.
Sometimes I thought I heard it plain,
As other voices spoke again.

I cannot tell-I like it not

Friar John hath told us it is wrote,
No conscience clear and void of wrong

Can rest awake, and pray so long.
Himself still sleeps before his beads

Have mark'd ten aves, and two creeds.»> (17)

XXVII.

« Let pass,» quoth Marmion; by my fay,
This man shall guide me on my way,
Although the great arch-fiend and he
Had sworn themselves of company.
So please you, gentle youth, to call
This Palmer to the castle-hall.»—
The summon'd Palmer came in place;
His sable cowl o'erhung his face;
In his black mantle was he clad,
With Peter's keys, in cloth of red,
On his broad shoulders wrought; (18)
The scallop shell his cap did deck;
The crucifix around his neck

Was from Loretto brought;
His sandals were with travel tore,
Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore;
The faded palm-branch in his hand
Show'd pilgrim from the Holy Land.
XXVIII.

When as the Palmer came in hall,
Nor lord nor knight was there more tall,,

Or had a statelier step withal,

Or look'd more high and keen;
For no saluting did he wait,
But strode across the hall of state,

And fronted Marmion where he sate,
As he his peer had been.

But his gaunt frame was worn with toil;
His cheek was sunk, alas, the while!
And when he struggled at a smile,

His eye look'd haggard wild:
Poor wretch! the mother that him bare,
If she had been in presence there,
In his wan face and sunburnt hair,
She had not known her child.
Danger, long travel, want, or woe,
Soon change the form that best we know-
For deadly fear can time outgo,

And blanch at once the hair;

Hard toil can roughen form and face,
And want can quench the eye's bright grace,
Nor does old
age a wrinkle

More deeply than despair.

trace,

Happy whom none of these befal, But this poor Palmer knew them all.

ΧΧΙΧ.

Lord armion then his boon did ask;
The Palmer took on him the task,
So he would march with morning tide,
To Scottish court to be his guide.

But I have solemn vows to pay,
And may not linger by the way,

To fair St Andrews bound, Within the ocean-cave to pray, Where good St Rule his holy lay, From midnight to the dawn of day, Sung to the billows' sound; (19) Thence to St Fillan's blessed well, Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel, And the crazed brain restore : (20) St Mary grant that cave or spring Could back to peace my bosom bring, Or bid it throb no more!»

XXX.

And now the midnight draught of sleep,
Where wine and spices richly steep,
In massive bowl of silver deep,

The page presents on knee.
Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest,
The captain pledged his noble guest,
The cup went through among the rest,
Who drain'd it merrily;
Alone the Palmer pass'd it by,
Though Selby press'd him courteously.
This was the sign the feast was o'er;
It hush'd the merry wassel roar,

The minstrels ceased to sound. Soon in the castle nought was heard, But the slow footstep of the guard, Pacing his sober round.

XXXI.

With early dawn Lord Marmion rose :
And first the chapel doors unclose;
Then, after morning rites were done
(A hasty mass from Friar John),

And knight and squire had broke their fast,
On rich substantial repast,

Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse :
Then came the stirrup cup in course;

Between the baron and his host
No point of courtesy was lost;

High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid,
Solemn excuse the captain made,
Till, filing from the gate, had past
That noble train, their lord the last.
Then loudly rung the trumpet-call:
Thunder'd the cannon from the wall,
And shook the Scottish shore;
Around the castle eddied slow,
Volumes of smoke as white as snow,

And hid its turrets hoar;
Till they roll'd forth upon the air,
And met the river breezes there,
Which gave again the prospect fair.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO II.

ΤΟ

THE REV. JOHN MARRIOT, M. A.
Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest.
THE scenes are desert now, and bare,
Where flourish'd once a forest fair, (1)
When these waste glens with copse were lined,
And peopled with the hart and hind.
-You thorn-perchance whose prickly spears
Have fenced him for three hundred years,
While fell around his green compeers-
Yon lonely thorn, would he could tell
The changes of his parent dell,
Since he, so gray and stubborn now,
Waved in each breeze a sapling bough;
Would he could tell how deep the shade,
A thousand mingled branches made;
How broad the shadows of the oak,
How clung the rowan to the rock,
And through the foliage show'd his head,
With narrow leaves and berries red;

What pines on every mountain sprung,
O'er every dell what birches hung,
In every breeze what aspens shook,
What alders shaded every
brook!

[ocr errors]

« Here, in my shade,» methinks he'd say,
« The mighty stag at noontide lay:
The wolf I've seen, a fiercer game
(The neighbouring dingle bears his name),
With lurching step around me prowl,
And stop against the moon to howl;
The mountain-boar, on battle set,
His tusks upon my stem would whet;
While doe and roe, and red-deer good,
Have bounded by through gay green-wood.
Then oft, from Newark's riven tower,
Sallied a Scottish monarch's power:
A thousand vassals muster'd round,

With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound;
And I might see the youth intent
Guard every pass with cross-bow bent;
And through the brake the rangers stalk,
And falc'ners hold the ready hawk;

1 Mountain-ash.

And foresters, in green-wood trim,
Lead in the leash the gaze-hounds grim,
Attentive, as the bratchet's bay
From the dark covert drove the prey,
To slip them as he broke away.
The startled quarry bounds amain,
As fast the gallant greyhounds strain :
Whistles the arrow from the bow,
Answers the arquebuss below:
While all the rocking hills reply,
To hoof-clang, hound, and hunter's cry,
And bugles ringing lightsomely.»-

Of such proud huntings many tales
Yet linger in our lonely dales,
Up pathless Ettrick and on Yarrow,
Where erst the outlaw drew his arrow. (2)
But not more blithe that sylvan court,
Than we have been at humbler sport;
Though small our pomp, and mean our game,
Our mirth, dear Marriot, was the same.
Remember'st thou my greyhounds true?
O'er holt or hill there never flew,
From slip or leash there never sprang,
More fleet of foot, or sure of fang.
Nor dull between each merry chase,
Pass'd by the intermitted space;
For we had fair resource in store,
In classic, and in Gothic lore:
We mark'd each memorable scene,
And held poetic talk between;
Nor hill nor brook we paced along,
But had its legend or its song.
All silent now-for now are still
Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill!
No longer from thy mountains dun
The yeoman hears the well-known gun,
And, while his honest heart glows warm
At thought of his paternal farm,
Round to his mates a brimmer fills,
And drinks « the Chieftain of the Hills!»
No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers,
Trip o'er the walks, or tend the flowers,
Fair as the elves whom Janet saw,
By moon-light, dance on Carterhaugh;
No youthful baron's left to grace
The Forest-sheriff's lonely chace,
ape, in manly step and tone,
The majesty of Oberon:
And she is gone, whose lovely face
Is but her least and lowest grace;
Though if to sylphid queen 't were given,
To show our earth the charms of heaven,
She could not glide along the air,
With form more light, or face more fair.
No more the widow's deafen'd ear
Grows quick that lady's step to hear :
At noontide she expects her not,
Nor busies her to trim the cot;
Pensive she turns her humming wheel,
Or pensive cooks her orphans' meal;
Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread,
The gentle hand by which they 're fed.

And

Slow-hound.

1

[graphic][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed]
« 前へ次へ »